You, Me & Us
by Ihsan997
Summary: Leaving the life of adventuring, Cecilia and Khujand - she formerly Alliance and he formerly Horde - live in a neutral zone, intent on retirement and raising a family. But first, they make one last attempt to reconnect with the friends and loved ones who disowned them for their life choices. 45 chapters
1. Prologue

We sit on the front porch of the old villa I fixed up with the Hearthglen family, the authentic Kaldorei wind chimes my sort-of-adoptive sister and brother had imported from the House of Edune all those years ago. When I notice you looking at it, I speak.

"It's one of their more touching stories," I begin to explain to you. "That's the one I'm finishing up currently. It's why I wanted to wait until everyone else was out to settle down here, actually; I'd be honored of you would proofread it with me. You know, I read out loud, you comment or review at the spots where anything catches your eye as exceptionally well-written. Or in need of improvement, of course."

The cool breeze catches my hair and yours as we rock in our chairs on the dark violet wooden veranda, and from the ledge the property is situated on, we can see the ocean waves slowly cresting southward on the beach surrounding the bustling port city of Ratchet. The wind chimes sing beautifully in the wind, their sound enhanced not by arcane magic or strictly druidic power, but something else both magical and natural. I straighten out my blouse - you remember how I detest dresses despite you suggesting I would look good in that light green outfit you saw the other day - and the two of us enjoy the orange sun over the sea. I'm wearing simple sunglasses rather than the robotic gnomish goggles you seem to get a kick out of, and we can both tell that it's just after noon even without the mechanical clock you were eyeing inside the sitting room of the villa. Where would we be without the gnomes?

"It isn't that many pages," I explain as I pass the first manuscript over to you. The cover of the journal is light green just like the dress you took from the rack and held against my form yesterday, and I notice the smirk on your face when you rub you palm across the smooth surface. "I didn't count the pages yet, but it isn't a novel or anything."

The soft grass sways in the wind like a gilded sea, signaling that we're in the Barrens - still in Kalimdor, halfway between the home territories of the two people I share the villa with. You remember the discussion we had the other day when I showed you the veritable forest we have out back - a lush combination of both the temperate pines of Nightsong Forest and the tropical ferns of the Echo Isles. You have a good view of it from the guest's room you're staying in, and locals often visit to pick out choicer plants for their personal gardens - one of the main sources of income for the family now and another benefit of owning the only tillable land on the rocky outcropping overlooking the bay of Ratchet.

"The three of us lived in that place, down among the rest of the townhouses on the northside," I mention while pointing to a winding, ascending road lined with houses with red shingles on the roofs. "We didn't have much in the beginning, but we made do. That's when I started writing the story of my best friend."

You flip through the pages of the journal, noticing that the handwriting glows with the same runes found on the wind chimes. The presence of two more journals of the same color and dimensions reminds you of some of the book-copying methods of my people, how we can write in one book and have the manuscript copied into other blank books effortlessly. It seems like such an ingenious means of preserving the written word.

A ship docks at one of the several new piers in Ratchet, and a troop of gnolls led by an arakkoa from Outland begin unloading spools of what looks like steel cables. It reminds you of one of my favorite points about Ratchet I mentioned during our late night discussions over the fire in the front yard here surrounded with high stone walls. Whatever you need, whatever you want, whoever you want to see, you can find it in a port city like Ratchet - and without all the filth and crime you'd get in Booty Bay.

As you look up at me - and I am always both stunned and flattered by your patience - I take the cue to explain my aim.

"Cecilia Hearthglen, my best friend in the whole wide world, married Khujand - a troll, by the way. Yeah, a night elf married to a jungle troll. It isn't so strange anymore, apparently, and they even met others like them. This specific story," I say as I tap the journal in your hands with my index finger, "is of their last adventure. It's the story of how they retired from fighting, left behind their former lives and truly embraced their shared civilian life with each other."

I refill your glass of lemonade as I speak, still amazed at your attention span. I notice you tracing the wooden planks beaten into the soil one after the other, forming a path from the front gate of the little wall of the front yard off to the right and down the hill leading by the three other small hacienda-style villas overlooking the north edge of Ratchet. The Hearthglen residence - for lack of a better term that includes Rainsong, my family name, since they include me in their family - is the last on the end. You can see a good amount of land on all sides and the otherworldly combination of temperate and tropical has spilled out to occupy land large enough to provide a measure of privacy but small enough such that potential developers would have no use for it.

We both sip our lemonade for a moment before setting the glasses down on the tiny wooden table between our chairs. The breeze has tapered off and we enjoy the sound of the ocean and the busy docks below before continuing.

"Cecilia is twelve-thousand years old, by the way," I chortle in that way you always say infects you. "She lived on the banks of the first Well of Eternity just after our people had discovered arcane magic, and knew a world much more primitive than this both culturally and technologically. Still, even before our people were granted immortality the Well extended our lifespans and Cecilia was already more than two millennia old by the time the War of the Ancients broke out. That, in and of itself, includes a ton of stories I first began writing - she remembers that time better than much of the Long Vigil, but still…two thousand years is a long time, even for an elf. Images are incomplete as bits and pieces fall away. I can tell you from experience - I'm just over a thousand years old myself. I never knew what it was like to truly be alive until after the Battle of Mount Hyjal, and I remember the past decade and a half or so far better than even the decade right before it."

I frown for a moment and you know what's coming. You've complemented me numerous times and truly, you have already convinced me that my efforts are appreciated and my pace of writing has been fast enough, but my frustration with my best friend's passive attitude toward her own wisdom and experience always shows through.

"It's not fair, you know. Cecilia has seen so much. She saw two invasions of our planet by the Burning Legion. She grew up at the beginning of literacy, astronomy, math, aqueducts, cities…real high civilization and culture. The troll empires were there, but even Khujand concedes that they were a level below what our people built. Cecilia saw the world ripped apart twice, saw the Silithids expand twice, and was alive for invasions from the Dark Portal twice. She saw night elven society transition from a patriarchal, aristocrstic, urban society to a matriarchal, militaristic, theocratic forest-dwelling society and was one of our fine, strong women who survived the transition.

"She knew a world without druidic arts, and she grew up as a youth in Suramar. She knew Tyrande Whisperwind, Malfurion Stormrage, Maiev Shadowsong and her brother Jarod, Shandris Feathermoon, Illidan the Betrayer…they were kids together in that city. Younglings. She was there when Cenarius taught our menfolk how to become one with nature just as our womenfolk had become one with the night, and she was there when the dragon aspects blessed Nordrassil and charged our women with protecting the planet from invasion and our men with managing the balance. She was there when our people regrouped at the base of Mount Hyjal and the Sisterhood of Elune assigned everyone to posts throughout northern Kalimdor in the most organized way possible. She said goodbye to her father and uncle when all the men entered the Emerald Dream and for ten thousand years, she did the same thing day in day out in Serenity Grove as her mother, sister and friends helped her watch over the forests during the lonely, monotonous Long Vigil. Every day melded with the next as experiences and even individuals became indistinguishable from one another, but regardless, there is so much knowledge to be shared there…

"And yet, she doesn't feel the need to share."

You reach over and give my hand a squeeze when you see the melancholy look on my face. Despite my usually standoffish, loudmouthed nature, I drop the defense mechanism and look you in the eye at the same time you sense my sad wistfulness. I even let you hold my hand for a minute before finishing what I want to say.

"It still boggles my mind. I understand that humility is in her nature, but there's a limit; she has so, so much to share with the world. Yet once the two of them left the craft of war for good, they both became so domesticated - even her troll of a husband. Cecilia always says it's enough that her close friends and family know; she truly is the pillar of the household and every person she meets holds this reverence for her. You can see it in the way she moves, the way she is sometimes lost deep in thought, the way she speaks so carefully even when her time - indeed the time of all Kaldorei born before immortality - is so limited.

"Well, I don't accept that. Since I left adventuring with them, I discovered my passion for writing. I haven't yet jotted down her stories from her life prior to her first meeting with her husband - Khujand busted her out of a jail where he was the jailer - so I consider this like practice, more than anything."

You flip back to the beginning of the book and spy the table of contents I painstakingly drew up.

 **Introduction** (three chapters)

1\. Prologue (what we're reading right now!)

2\. Two Letters (K, C)

3\. Let's Go! (I, C)

 **His Arc** (eleven chapters)

4\. Welcome to Durotar (C)

5\. Into the Trolls' Den (C)

6\. Razor Hill Recouperation (C)

7\. Mama, Let My Heart Go (K, C)

8\. Target Practice (K, C)

9\. Assistance Withheld (C)

10\. Ambush! (C, K)

11\. Hello, My Dear Friend (K)

12\. Assistance Granted (C)

13\. Drug Bust (K, C)

14\. Identity Crisis (K, C)

 **First Intermission** (three chapters)

15\. Two Hearts Restored (K, C)

16\. Home Invasion (I)

17\. Highway Robbery (K, C)

 **Her Arc** (fifteen chapters)

18\. Welcome to Ashenvale (K)

19\. Losing My Religion (C)

20\. Gimme Shelter (C)

21\. Showdown with Sodor (C)

22\. Sojourn to Serenity (K, C, K)

23\. Meeting with Maya (C, K)

24\. The House of Edune (C, K)

25\. Reunion (C)

26\. Don't Make a Scene (K)

27\. Good Homecoming (C)

28\. Forgive to Understand (C)

29\. Party Like It's -1999 (C, K, C)

30\. Are We Old? (C)

31\. Release Me (C)

32\. You Have a Home (C)

 **Second Intermission** (three chapters)

33\. Mended Again (C)

34\. Soon (?)

35\. Tally Ho (I)

 **Their Arc** (seven chapters)

36\. One Last Retreat (C)

37\. You Aren't Alone (K)

38\. What Has Been Written (C)

39\. All Is Lost (C)

40\. Vengeance (C)

41\. Super Smash Sisters (C)

42\. It Starts With One Step (C, K)

 **Conclusion** (three chapters)

43\. Let's Go Again! (C, K)

44\. The Invitation (K, C)

45\. Epilogue (what we'll read when we're finished)

"I like people to know what they're in for before they commit to reading," I add as I tap both the table of contents and your index finger with my own. "It goes without saying, of course, that the craft of war - Warcraft, as some call it - is the property of a certain consortium called 'Blizzard' with which I have no connection. I can only lay claim to the characters and plots within, minus the night elf notables Cecilia grew up with in Suramar - as well as the ancient highborn city itself – as well as the jungle troll notables Khujand grew up with."

Off in the distance, we can still see two trained sprite darters - another source of income for the household, though not just any stranger off the street is granted the right to buy - frolicking in the yard. They're specially trained to ward off magic users, and aside from the two of us, they're the only other beings present for now. We'll have quite a bit of time here, you and me.

"The story arcs don't necessarily correspond to the perspective, by the way," I make sure to mention. "I switch it around a bit - the next chapter is from his perspective, the third is from hers. Then within his arc about half the narrative is from her perspective, then back in her arc a good number of scenes are from his perspective. Don't worry - the perspective will be clear either way, but I like to switch it up."

I shoot you a sly grin as I lean a wee bit closer. "I even throw in a few chapters from my own perspective. Hey, I'm the author - it's my right, isn't it?"

You grin right back as you finish up your glass, winning the lemonade race for the third time in the past few days.

"I promise you, the Hearthglens and all the other readers out there that one day, more stories will be told. Stories of the Well of Eternity, the misery of the Sundering, the harsh transition to a female-led society with no support, the monotony of the Vigil. Stories about Stranglethorn Vale, Darkspear Isle and Sen'jin Village, at least what little I was able to squeeze out from Khujand – there's a slight bit of age disparity between wife and husband, and thus a disparity in the number of stories they both yield. And I will tell you the stories of all the important characters who crossed paths with my super best friends, their family members, and even more that I can't remember now. I will write until Cecilia, Khujand and their family finally run out of stories - hey, don't laugh! Come on, support me here!

"I will write until their entire long, amazing, inspiring journey through life is published for all fans of fiction to read."

I take another sip of lemonade as I feel I have rambled enough. It's time to let the written words speak for themselves.

"For now, though, my first longer story will have to suffice - how a night elf sentinel settled down with the jungle troll shadow hunter she loved, and how they turned their backs on all the conflict to lead a normal life. I sincerely hope you enjoy, and that you comment along the way."


	2. Two Letters

It was just about noon time when they woke up, as was the norm. Working out the balance had been difficult - she a nocturnal elf and he a troll unused to schedules, both of them accepting irregular work as it flew their way.

Buried under the white linens, Khujand was the first to stir, stretching his body as small amounts of light fluttered in from between the beige curtains. The paint of the bedroom walls - also beige - matched much of the larger pieces of furniture. The desk, the carpets, the trusseu at the foot of the bed, the headboard, even the doors were all beige. Select items were covered as white as the linen bedsheets and comforter, as well as the stacatto tiles on the floor. All of it had been painstakingly chosen, mostly by his wife Cecilia and their housemate Irien, though he did his part as well. Living in a port city, they had access to a number of both building and decorating materials unavailable to most of Azeroth's population.

Their comfort had come with a price, and although the three were now debt-free, they never had a whole lot of money just sitting around in the bank. Owning property was the most important thing - much of the planet's population was either tilling someone else's land or living as simple villagers - and all three of them retained much of their old gear that, with their retirement from adventuring, they could eventually sell.

Still, they had to work quite a bit, and as Khujand lazily glanced at the mechanical gnomish clock on top of the intable, he remembered the temporary job he took as an on-call staff member at the Ratchet infirmary. Oddly for a Shadow Hunter, he had only recently begun training in healing spells but he could cleanse poisons, infections, normal diseases and even fel corruption to an extent, as well as resurrect the fallen - given they hadn't died of old age, been dead for too long or been maimed to the point of needing healing. He wasn't perfect and neither was the job, but healers and "rezzers" were always short in supply and the stressful weekend job got them that amazing time-telling doohickey on the in table.

The burly troll rolled over, spying his still-sleeping night elven wife. She was sleeping on her stomach, her dyed azure locks that almost matched the complexion of his hide. Her hair was a mess and she was drooling on her pillow, yet she was still the most gorgeous being he had ever seen. Taking a thin paper napkin from the intable, he wiped her lips and cheek as he marveled at her unblemished face. She stirred slightly, a high-pitched coo escaping through her nose and she fought off waking up. Cecilia hadn't been idle during their post-adventuring life, either. The Steamwheedle Cartel had built the duplex they bought with Irien, and the two elves had a number of poorly spelled out responsibilities with the private post office their former landlords ran. Speaking six languages - soon to be seven as Khujand slowly taught her how to converse in Zandali - she was a translator when the need arose, though that was often without warning. Her twelve-thousand years of life granted her not only fluency in a high number of languages but also a high number of forms of combat and martial arts, and the former sentinel was also the weapons, armor and dueling trainer for the post office's outrunners were the need to arise, in addition to her participation in planning and organizing labor along the post roads (twelve thousand years in a militaristic society also tends to grant one organizational skills gained through serving in squads and battalions).

To their surprise, though, Irien was the main breadwinner of their dual household. She was only a thousand years old - literally one twelfth Cecilia's age - but had entrepreneurial skills that even their goblin employers envied. During her century or so of training at the Ranger's Academy at Auberdine - which she left just after the Third War ended and gunpowder reached northern Kalimdor - she was known for smuggling all sorts of contraband into the dorms. She put those skills to use at the Ratchet docks now, hoarding all sorts of junk and then reselling it at higher prices without so much as polishing any of it. Her side of the duplex was littered with sll sorts of items she hadn't been able to move to the market yet, unlike the nearly immaculate state of the Hearthglen half (Khujand had simply adopted his wife's surname since his people traditionally lacked any, and women tended to rule the roost among her people anyway).

As he listened to the ocean waves crashing outside, he felt Cecilia finally flexing her muscle groups next to him. She was from the second generation of night elves, those who were already more than a millennia old when their people were granted immortality, and though their skin and facial features never aged - she still appeared younger than him physically - the loss of their immortality manifested itself in various ways, especially with those whose time was running short. Their life spans having already technically run out before the Sundering, many Kaldorei Cecilia's age were already dying of natural causes. The majority had accepted it; their immortality had served its purpose, and they weren't the type to request divine wisdom.

Besides, as Cecilia always said, you can't appreciate life without the inevitability of death. Plus, it made her relationship with a short-lived troll possible; in all likelihood, Khujand would probably outlive her, though the topic was uncomfortable for both of them.

"I can still smell ya on me," he breathed out as he ran a three-fingered hand through her hair. She smiled at the thought though held her eyes closed as she popped her joints.

"My territory," she growled in animalistic way despite how groggy she was. As she arched her back, her deep mauve complexion fell under a strand of light fron behind the curtains as he admired both the smooth skin she was born with and the battle scars she had earned - some of them millennia old themselves. "Can I eat some waffles?" she asked as both their stomachs growled.

He chuckled as he pulled more of the blanket off of his drowsy wife, gawking at her bare backside. "Ya can eat whatever ya want if I get ta eat what I want fir-"

"You're incorrigible!" she chortled as she tried to cover herself with her hands - though, as he noticed, not with the blanket.

Both uncovered, his slightly glowing electric red eyes met her faded, dimly glowing silvers - a feature that, like his clipped tusks, marked them both as flawed among their respective peoples but made then even more attractive to each other. She didn't have the energy he did anymore - so much had changed since the loss of Nordrassil - but he knew which buttons to push, in a figurative sense.

"NoOoOo," she cooed playfully as he reached for her round rear end.

Pulling the blanket underneath her at first, Cecilia rose up to sit on her knees, clutching the covers to her chest. Most of her body was concealed from him, but her sly grin was accentuated by her narrowed eyes. Khujand continued to lay on his side at the end of the bed as he leaned up on one elbow, admiring even her forearms in a way that made every inch of her feel worshipped. The heavy rumble of his lungs as he breathed was the only sound aside from the waves outside as they both waited for the other to make the first move.

Breaking the suspense, he crooked his thick, muscular neck forward - he knew of her neck fetish - and slowly opened his sharp-toothed mouth as his lips neared a stray fold of the blanket. Cecilia held absolutely still was her wonderment was obvious on her face.

:: _CLACK_ ::

"Oh!" she squealed as his teeth chomped down on the fold of blanket audibly.

Arching his brows at her suggestively, he held onto the fold between his teeth for a moment, waiting until her breathing became almost as loud as his and she sucked air in between her teeth. Lifting his head and neck up, he gave the blanket the slightest tug - not strong enough to uncover her but with just enough force that she could feel her barrier being dragged against her skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled on the blanket until it slid out from between his teeth and floated back down to the bed. As he stared into her eyes, they widened in tandem with the ear to ear grin spreading across her face. He didn't give her time to act before he opened his mouth again.

:: _CLACK_ ::

"Ooh..." she said a little more quietly. Goosebumps broke out across her skin despite the warm weather.

Tugging as lightly as before, Khujand watched as Cecilia's fingers turned to jelly and her collar bone was revealed to him as the blanket slipped away a few inches. When he witnessed her pupils dilate, he slid one hand forward along the surface of the bed and reached for that curvaceous, muscular calf he spied from behind-

"Guys!" shouted Irien as she banged on their bedroom door. "Allisonwaspromotedatthepostofficeeventhoughshedoesn'tdeserveitandshesuggestedispendtoomuchtimebuyingandsellingstuffandi'mreallypissedoffandilnowyourebothjustwakingupbutireallyneedsomeonetotalk…"

The rest of her mini-rant was drowned out by the disappointed groans of the odd couple. Khujand simply buried his head in the covers as Cecilia facepalmed, knowing that ignoring Irien would only cause her to become more frantic in her ranting. Cecilia slid off the bed, wrapping the blanket around herself as she tried to calm their best friend down.

"I'll vent with Irien about the new daytime manager this time," Cecilia sighed as she moved to the bathroom. "Why don't you handle the morning errands since it's still light out?"

Raising his head from the bedsheets, Khujand caught her eye and they shared a laugh at their situation. "So ya get ta vent about ya new sort-of boss and I gotta go deal with her. Isn' that some shit-"

"Watch those filthy lips!"

He grinned wickedly at her unwitting comment. "These lips can't be too filthy considerin' where ya let me put them."

He was stopped in his tracks as she grinned right back, bent over, dropped the blanket to reveal her bare behind to him again and shut the door to the bathroom before he could even sit up from the bed to grab her. Rubbing his still-sleepy eyes, Khujand moved to the dresser and threw on yet another pair of knee-length pants-and-sarong combination many of his kind wore in less humid weather. He pulled out a sleeveless shirt as well as he tried to tune out whatever Irien was babbling about on the other side of the door; since living among other races, he and Cecilia both had been influenced by their habits and generally wore more concealing clothing than either of them had grown up with.

Irien was already in front of the bedroom door as he exited. "Ya copied tha key ta our side of tha house, didn't ya?" he asked with knowing resignation as she followed him down the stairs.

The entire house was dimly lit; the two elves preferred darkness and the troll, being a practitioner of voodoo, had a slight glow to his eyes that helped him see not perfectly but comfortably with low levels of light.

"I'm stressed out right now because her entire management style is based on demoralizing the staff and micromanaging everything," Irien complained as she followed him into the house's shared kitchen. "Eew, don't wash your face in the kitchen sink!"

"There ain't any dishes right now," he gurgled as Irien expounded on her trials and tribulations working part-time at the cartel post office.

"You're not listening to me!" she groaned after him as he moved for the front door and put his sandals on.

Khujand turned back around and gave her a one-armed hug in a sort of conciliatory act. "I'll vent with ya once I go for a walk and wake up a bit more," he mumbled as he walked outside. "And I'll tell Allison ta eff off when I check tha mail."

* * *

He stopped by the alchemy hut first, his primary place of work. Although it was owned by a goblin landlord - the cartel always has financiers looking to take a cut from someone else's labor - most of the footwork was performed by Sonja. Like Khujand, Sonja was a Darkspear troll, and also like him, she was married to a non-troll. A human, to be exact; a rather curious pairing, though in a neutral zone like Ratchet without all the factional conflicts, anything was possible and many things were seen.

She was already distilling something behind the counter when Khujand walked inside. Although he was off duty that day, he still tended to drop by just to see if any on-the-spot help was needed. There was a large cauldron just beyond the front door; such a brewing method was old fashioned and inefficient, but potential customers responded better to the sight of two trolls in a hut decorated with skulls wearing hand-made fetishes than they did to the sleeker, more modern and lower-priced competitors in town.

Sonja glanced back at him for only a split second, not wanting to lose focus on whatever she was doing. "Tha timer rang down in tha green room," she instructed hurriedly in Zandali. The two knew each other well enough - Sonja not only pulled Cecilia out of a literal gutter in Booty Bay and helped her kick a nasty drug habit but also got them their first job with the cartel through her current husband - so they often began speaking about work without any form of greetings. To anyone else, it would seem rude, though to them it was business as usual.

"Got it," he hollored up just as he had already reached the bottom of the ladder leading into the cellar.

Runic Kaldorei lightstones Irien imported from the base of Mount Hyjal provided the otherwordly light the rarer herbs needed to thrive down there, in addition to aiding the expert alchemist and novice herbalist in his inspection. The cellar was small, and he had to hunch over, lean against the ladder and brace one foot against the back wall in order to fit, but his arms were long enough to reach anything he needed within the little underground box.

The otherworldly light cast by the enchanted stones - fused with the balance of nature rather than arcane magic - brought back memories of the night he and Cecilia had met. They were both still using their birth names at the time, and they both looked remarkably different - him especially. She had been captured near Warsong Gulch and held prisoner in a makeshift jail he managed at the Mor'shan Rampart. Getting word that she would be shipped off as a 'comfort woman' at another camp, he informed her with the intention of letting her go and was shocked when she so readily asked for his help. Though neither of them enjoyed labeling the feelings they shared as they stared at each other one last time before they parted ways that night, they knew it was something unique and special that stayed with them until their paths crossed again on Draenor eight years later. The wisps danced around her as the gazed into each others eyes at Mor'shan just like they did as she led him on a chase through a meadow in Gorgrond. He often wished they could obtain a lightstone for their home for sentimental reasons, though as she explained, there was a sanctity for her people behind those stones and obtaining them was rather difficult without direct travel to Kaldorei lands.

They had talked about such travel quite a bit; her remaining family members were there, and with Alliance-Horde hostility dying down, it just might be safe enough for Khujand to travel through the lands of the night elves. He truly would enjoy having an extended family seeing as how he was now living under an assumed identity and was banned from ever contacting anyone from his former life again. Cecilia's sister, Unelia, had pledged herself to a human named Johan before the night elves joined the Alliance and were still as xenophobic toward humans as they were toward orcs. Her ancestral grove eventually accepted the uniom and the children it produced, and were obviously understanding people. Perhaps they could be convinced to accept Khujand as well.

"Everythin's been watered again," he mentioned to Sonja as he climbed back up to the ground level. "Should be fine till Tuesday." He paused and leaned against the doorway before leaving and waited for her to finish a more concentrated part of the blending process before speaking again. "Sonja…did ya and Erikur ever visit his family tagether?"

The elder Darkspear snorted a laugh, turning halfway to face him as she tried to empty a dropper into the concoction. "Ya finally be thinkin' that ya wanna meet Cici's family, yeah?" Being the more experienced troll with marrying non-trolls, Sonja already seemed to know what Khujand was getting at, which helped him to feel less self conscious about his question.

"Well…we're gettin' stable now, sort of settled in. Seems like it would be tha next step."

Finishing her work with the dropper, she turned to face him fully as she dried it at the counter and put it away. "Humans don't be nothin' like elves," Sonja explained in a relaxed accent more typical of their tribe; Khujand's origins were from the very far north of Stranglethorn Vale and his manner of speaking was like a cross between that of the Gurubashi and the southernmost tribes of forest trolls. It clashes with that of Sonja, who was of southern origins like most Darkspear and had a less distinct accent by the standards of jungle trolls.

After sorting out her words and his own thoughts - Loa, he was starting to forget his own language - he considered her words for a moment. "Ya think I'm not gonna have as easy a time as ya did?" he asked.

"That depends on what ya be meanin'."

Khujand nearly went cross eyed. "I was tryin' ta ask ya what **ya** mean."

"Tha humans like Erikur's family be more intense in their bigotry but also in their loyalty. They accused me of hexin' him with a love potion at first but once they met me at the Port of Stormwind for tha first time, they flipped a hundred eighty. Elves don't go as far as hatin' our people, but their acceptance would be much harder won."

Three goblins, a gnome and a dwarf husband and wife all walked in together at that moment, though instead of a lame bar joke they were actual customers. Khujand slouched more than was his habit for the marketing effect and continued speaking in Zandali as he backed out, earning mystified looks from the six marks as the dollar signs flashed in Sonja's eyes.

"I'm thinkin' about broachin' tha subject with her soon. I hope ya wouldn't mind if I take off for a bit if and when tha time comes."

"I can always drag Anushka down here ta help if I need it," she laughed deeply with the distinctive tone of a jungle troll female, drawing starstruck stares from the customers to herself. "Just keep ya wits about ya. And…oh, eh." She paused for a split second, peering at the group of newcomers who were in awe of the authentic feel of the hut and didn't appear to know the slightest thing about how alchemy actually worked. "Sen'jin voodoo loa Echo Isles e'chuta spirits Gurubashi." With that last random set of Zandali words, the six oblivious customers were sold, their coinpurses were already on the counter and Khujand stepped out with an incredulous smirk on his face.

Reaching the post office just a few minutes later, he was already prepared for the mental barrage from Allison, the resident climber and backstabber at the Steamwheedle Cartel's private shipping service. A thoroughly unpleasant person, the little human who looked like a dwarf was unfortunately competent at her job, and thus firmly entrenched with the cartel. There would be no way to avoid her once he entered the post office since he stood out among most of the people picking up their mail or sending letters, and he braced himself for a test of patience that would require him to be nice to his wife's boss despite all basic mortal nature.

The amount of time that he had to brace himself felt unfairly short. "Khujand!" Allison whined at him through her nose in Common the moment he set foot through the door of the expansive, two story (by goblin standards) building's reception room. "I need you to deliver a message to that wife of yours!"

He ignored the squinty-eyed, foul-smelling human (Allison believed that baths melted your skin layers off over time) as he walked past the front counter without asking permission and headed toward his wife's cubbyhole in the employee back room.

"She drilled the outrunners on how to defend against low-flying arrows with a left-handed shield last weekend," Allison oinked as she tried to keep up with his long strides. "But when they finished their training session thirtteen minutes early, she released them from their training course early. Our trainers should plan their lessons properly for the allotted time slights they've been assigned! She is the only night shift warrior trainer in Ratchet, this is totally unacceptable!"

Ignoring the humanoid vermin bunching up the skin between its bespectacled eyes next to him, Khujand found a letter from his lawyer in Orgrimmar, Lorthiras, dated from just last night and marked as urgent. Khujand's mother had passed away half a month ago...it was possible that the parcel contained another necklace or personal affect from her that Lorthiras had managed to obtain.

It was a complicated situation. Living under an assumed identity, Khujand was living the life of someone else and was never supposed to contact a living relative again - his mother, two children (one of whom he had never met) and ex-wives included. Though his mother's passing was not entirely unexpected, that didn't lessen the blow, and that he hadn't even been allowed to attend her funeral was just salt in the wound. Lorthiras had sent Khujand a necklace, trinket and one earring he was able to find in the corner of her room in a shared Razor Hill apartment as mementos, but so far there was nothing substantial. Perhaps this message contained pages from a lost journal? Or some final testament?

"And another thing," chittered Allison as the extra tooth in the front of her gums that she never just got pulled made her even more insect-like. "Your wife keeps putting purple stickers to decorate the inside of her cubbyhole. I'm making a new rule that says she has to peel them off."

Wedged in the back of the cubbyhole was another letter, one that was crumpled and looked to be a few weeks old - with a wife who worked defending postal roads and training the runners in martial arts, one tends to discern the difference between a letter left recently and one that might have been lost. Pulling it out and reading the sender's address, Khujand felt a tingling sensation between his eyes.

 _From: Unelia Swiftfoot_

 _To: Isurith_

Cecilia's sister...one of only two living family members. She knew they lived in Ratchet, but she had never written to Cecilia directly. She was using Cecilia's birth name - Isurith - but without their family name, and he could already sense the impending drama coming right at that moment. When he noticed that the letter was three weeks old, he realized that his wife must have stuffed it in the cubbyhole for fear of its contents. He understood Cecilia's anxiety - she had caused an uproar when she abandoned her sister's household - and thus he didn't open it, but fully intended to watch her as she did so at home.

As Khujand made his way around the front desk and toward the exit, he found the smelly, insectoid quillboar posing as a human in his way. How a womanbugpig could embody all those descriptors so fully was beyond him, but he had seen other strange things in his days.

"Khujand, Mrs. Hearthglen has garnered numerous infractions during my past thirty-six hours as assist-"

"YA HAIR SMELLS LIKE PATAYTAS AND YA GONNA DIE ALONE!"

It took every ounce of his willpower not to laugh at his own insult as he turned and left the slack-jawed insectopig behind him at the post office. The several goblins, humans and even Jimmy Squarefoot, the only real, actual quillboar waiting in line, all laughed their heads off for him anyway.

* * *

Cecilia had finished baking some spiced bread they had prepared the night before when Irien finally seemed at peace, their venting session about womanbugpig relieving them both of untold amounts of stress. The moon had finally risen when the smell of baked dough and red peppers filled the air, and Irien had even opened an enchanted music box (naturally, not arcane) in the shared sitting room of the duplex as they straightened things up in the shared kitchen. Both coming from a women-led, martial society, neither would have thought just two decades ago that such a quiet, civilian life would suit either of them, yet it fit perfectly.

Surreptitiously marking a day on the house calendar a few months ahead, Cecilia tried to hide her actions to no avail. "What's that?" Irien asked immediately, ever the comfortable third wheel.

"The birthday of Khujand's daughter," Cecilia sighed in reply. "He takes his new identity seriously and doesn't plan on entering her life again, but he always dreams of finding a way to send her a gift. Like anonymously, but he's not sure how."

"Don't you feel jealous?" Irien asked sincerely though with a hint of teasing as well. "You two are disgustingly in love. I would feel, like, psychotically envious knowing that my man had sired children with another woman before me."

Cecilia tried to even out the calendar which always seemed to sit crooked on the wall. "Of course I do," she replied without a trace of hesitation, resignation or indignation. "But part of a mature relationship is understanding that the past is called the past because it's finished. His previous marriages formed the man I love today, just as the two or three suitors who courted me before the Sundering and the string of worthless boyfriends I had in Booty Bay formed the woman Khujand loves. I don't regret a thing."

Irien smiled curiously at her friend, raising an eyebrow in warning of the coming business-butting. "I hear you guys practicing on your side of the house every single morning. And evening. Which, by the way, please keep it down because eww. When the hell are you just going to get pregnant?"

Cecilia was undaunted, though had anyone else asked they would have found themselves stuffed into the trash can. "We're trying, like you said. We stopped pulling out last month, but then we got those weird shifts at work and nothing was happening for a few weeks. Elven birthrates are low, troll birthrates are high, so we're hoping…"

She trailed off as Khujand came through the door with the mail, a sack of avacados, three racks of savannah lion ribs and a jar of love powder made from ground zhevra horn that caused Cecilia to turn away shyly from Irien's leering. Slapping the mail down on the kitchen table, Khujand seemed oblivious to the conversation his presence had cut off as he began to speak.

"Ya sister sent ya a letter three weeks ago," he joked, though with a measure of very real curiosity. "Thought ya could open it with me when I open this urgent message from Sir Lorthiras."

Frozen and paralyzed, Cecilia tried to appear calm as her heart started to race. She'd never meant for that letter to be seen. She was going to read it...some time. On her own time. When she was ready. Her sister...by the night. Cecilia and Khujand were just starting to adjust to their life after adventuring. This was _not_ what she needed to just fall into her lap when she hadn't even gotten to feel like a normal mortal for an entire year yet.

Irien shot Cecilia a confused look as the former sentinel carefully picked up her sister's letter and stared right through it. Khujand, for his part, seemed quite eager to open his own as he tossed the avacados, lion ribs and the jar to the counter unceremoniously and sat at one of the three chairs reinforced to support his or Cecilia's considerable weight.

He narrated as he opened the envelope and found a second envelope with a letter from Lorthiras himself wrapped around it. "Khujand: once again, this is time sensitive. Ya children are…in danger." His expression was a bit incredulous, though Cecilia suspected that it could be denial. Both the shock of her dodging her sister's letter and of potential problems with Khujand's former family (which she actually was jealous of, whether she'd admit it to Irien or not) smacked her hard.

Irien sat down next to Khujand to read along, and even Cecilia broke away from the uncomfortable letter she had been hiding to peek at what her husband was reading.

He furrowed his hairless brow with concern as he focused, though his voice didn't waver.

"Well, what does Sir Lorthiras say?" Irien asked intently.

"Tha outcast terror - tha one who now bears ya birth name - contacted me again. He's threatenin' ya former family and obviously has a score ta settle with ya. I will do what I can in terms of coordinating with law enforcement. Tha letter that he wanted me ta send ya is troublin' enough, however."

"Enough for what?" Irien asked as she sounded a bit too obvious but did at least say out loud what everyone was thinking.

As Cecilia reached down and pulled the smaller second envelope out of the larger one, the trio all shuddered slightly as the names confirmed what they all suspected.

 _To: Khujand_

 _From: Garot'jin_


	3. Let's Go!

The three of them sat at the table - two night elves and a jungle troll - as they all silently looked at the two letters on the table. Both messages were strange in their own ways, the senders and addressees alone already raising a number of questions on their own.

For Cecilia's part, she wasn't particularly shocked to be addressed by her birth name - after all, it was how her family referred to her for twelve millennia. What was striking was that her sister, whom she hadn't spoken to in nine years, had written to her directly.

The unspoken agreement, from their arrival in Ratchet until that letter on the table, had been that Irien would exchange letters with Cecilia's human brother-in-law Johan Swiftfoot (like Khujand, he was a non-Kaldorei who had adopted the surname of his wife, such was the leadership of night elf women) in which they would pass on messages from sister to sister indirectly. They had started the second day they were back on Azeroth from the campaign against the Iron Horde on an alternate version of Draenor, hoping that the Swiftfoot residence in a naturally grown hollowed out tree in Astranaar would still bear the same address. And though the house was indeed the same, the home was not. Cecilia had left when her name was still Isurith after several years of emotional discovery following the end of the Long Vigil, when the once-immortal night elves entered an outside world that was new and confusing. Gone was the living dream devoid of hate or fear where the menfolk slept eternally in the Emerald Dream and the women were like mindless drones, performing the same duties and rounds every day, engaging in the same conversations every day, their shared experiences gradually whittling away at their individuality. The males, the druids of the Emerald Dream, had a much less harsh duty; time within the other dimension was greatly reduced, and the thousands and thousands of years passed quickly as they communed with nature itself.

The fate of the womenfolk during the thousands and thousands of years of the Long Vigil was entirely different. Night elf society had been patriarchal at the beginning; the switch to matriarchy was cruel and unforgiving, and by the end, the near emotionless night elf women were as feral as the nightsabres they rode, and - as Cecilia always insisted despite Khujand's skepticism - almost without sentience. When immortality ended at the Battle of Mount Hyjal, it brought with it the realization of illness and death, the return of men to a militaristic society which almost had no need for them, and the reemergence of marriage, birth, parenthood and even love. The night elves were suddenly beset by feelings and whims they had long forgotten.

How unsurprising, then, that many of them - even the oldest such as Cecilia - fell prey to a brave new world seeking to exploit those desires. Joining the Silverwing Sentinels on what she thought were missions to defend her sacred homeland, Cecilia instead engaged in targeted killings where three-quarters of her victims were orcish civilians. The brainwashing by her younger but more ambitious companion Gwynnerh, as well as the absolute conviction of their commanding officer Captain Maya Ironwood, might have succeeded had their atrocities been committed during the Vigil, but with the emotional awakening that occured within many of their kind after the Third War, empathy prevailed over dogma. Cecilia ultimately fled home in shame at her actions around the Horde lumber camps. She never regretted what had happened - after all, her mistakes did build the person she was, and the experience was how she had met Khujand - but she did regret how she fled her also newly emotional, clingy sister's household coldly, the morning after an argument and without saying goodbye.

She only wrote to Unelia a single time during those nine years, and during the first month. Just a single time.

Irien snapped both wife and husband back into the present.

"Johan didn't drop any sort of hint that she would write you directly," the younger elf explained, as perplexed as her two friends. "He would always mention your uncle Elindir and how he still makes lighthearted jokes about this new nephew-in-law of his, but very little from Unelia. He would just say how she and the kids are doing at any given time."

Khujand took Cecilia by the wrist, trying to reassure her. "Ya know how much she loves ya," he rumbled to her in that low voice of his he knew could often help her relax. "She had ta write ya directly eventually. Don't stress about it, she's probably delighted ta contact ya herself."

But Cecilia was stressed. Mostly due to the combination of guilt and embarrassment she felt, both at how she left and at the lifestyle she had led during her first few naive years spent across the ocean after leaving home.

"I'll be fine," she sighed with a shameful look on her face that pained both her husband and her best friend. "I just need a minute to think, and then read it myself first."

Sensing the discomfort, Irien flipped things onto Khujand (a tactic she never felt any guilt over despite her fondness of the big guy).

"Well it looks like you've got news really worth stressing over," she said half-joking and half-serious as she reached up and pinched his shoulder. "Lorthiras seems like the dead-serious type, and you told us once that the guy you switched identities with would still have a score to settle."

Though Khujand's quandary was more specific to his person and less so to the tribulation of an entire race, it was no less stressful on his much less ancient mind. He had known this was coming. When Garot'jin, the outcast terror arrested for torture at the Mor'shan Ramparts jail, was put up for a show trial, his lawyer Lorthiras manipulated judicial corruption to the benefit of them both. Through bizarre favor-calling and -granting, the torturer's identity was swapped with that of a highway robber with a slight physical resemblance in order to cover up a prison wagon fire caused by officer negligence. Garot'jin the torturer became Khujand the bandit, and Khujand the bandit became Garot'jin the torturer and was shipped to Orgrimmar, supposedly for execution before he escaped.

The new Khujand, for his part, was shipped to a 'black' (unacknowledged) prison camp in Desolace to serve out a sentence of slave labor for a few years after having his tusks forcibly clipped; the price he paid for evading execution and what was technically a second chance at life with a new identity, albeit one that was still criminal. It was a second instance of judicial corruption and wheeling and dealing by Lorthiras that led to Khujand being paroled on the condition that he pass through the Dark Portal and fight the Iron Horde on Draenor for one year. It was there that he encountered two former prison buddies, three former Warsong comrades who didn't recognize him and, during a four night stay in Gorgrond, a certain former night elf prisoner he had set free eight years prior…and, well, the rest was recent history.

But not the new Garot'jin; he was most assuredly not history. After escaping execution for war crimes he didn't commit, he became much worse than before. Urban legends spread about a drug lab in the mountains of western Durotar where extra-potent concoctions - troll regeneration meant that only the strongest narcotics would have any effect - were being produced and distributed by drugged-out mindslaves. Many dismissed the idea, though the three at the table as well as Khujand's attorney Lorthiras had always suspected there being some truth behind them - especially after Garot'jin the drug dealer began sending Lorthiras anonymous notes threatening to take revenge on Khujand the retired "bandit-turned-hero" once he returned from Draenor.

Yes, Lorthiras had essentially forced the deal upon both trolls in a way only his insane genius mind could justify, but Khujand had difficulty faulting Garot'jin for his anger - though not his supposed drugging of many impressionable youths in Durotar who fell to the consumable poison that the death merchant was peddling.

"You both have to open them," interjected Irien with a literal snap of her fingers as she pulled her dumbstruck best friends back into the present. "Read them on your own first and then out loud."

The couple both looked at each other and then down at the letters in front of them, seeing the logic in the plan but hesitating at the news they both might receive. Finally opening their respective envelopes, they read slowly, mouthing the words even though it was not usually the habit of either of them.

Only a matter of seconds passed before the first half of the couple spoke. "Finished," Cecilia breathed out heavily as she rested her forehead in one hand.

Khujand continued reading his letter, though his ears pricked up to signal that he was listening. Cecilia paused, staring at the short letter on the table in front of her.

The two elves became tense. "Well?" Irien interjected expectedly as she rudely snatched the letter away.

"Hey!"

"You said you were finished! Um, oh…it's only two sentences?"

 _Greetings sister,_

 _Johan informs me that you've settled in to your new life in Ratchet._

 _We'll talk again when you come home._

 _Unelia Swiftfoot_

When Irien looked up, Cecilia was already staring off into space as she drew circles on the surface of the kitchen table with her claw-like fingernails. Her expression was one of dismay, and her best friend immediately tried to comfort her despite knowing it would have minimal effect.

"She wants you to visit her, Cici," Irien tried to reason to her now statuesque friend. "The letter has been sitting there for three weeks. I can leave off trading at the auction house for a while to cover you at the post office while you go." She turned to Cecilia's troll of a husband, who was rereading his own letter for the seventh time. "We can find someone to help Sonja cover for you at the shop. She, of all people, will readily understand."

"She just called me 'sister,' and not even by my name," muttered Cecilia as she stared at the wall blankly. "We call all unrelated night elves 'sister.' Yet she calls her husband by his first name."

Irien snorted through her nose in exasperation before waving in front of the seasoned warrior's face to grab her attention. "You know it's going to be tense. But they haven't written anything in three weeks. It's time to visit your roots." Suddenly, the smaller elf's eyes lit up an even brighter shade of silver. "How! Hey! I know how you can _both_ go to Astranaar!"

Irien's tone became excited as she grabbed Khujand's arm. "Your trainers for the healing spell you're working on - they're members of the Earthen Ring! You also performed more work for the Cenarion Circle recently! If you go to Raynewood Retreat, I am sure the Laughing Sisters can arrange safe passage for you through Ashenvale; they tend to host most visiting officials from Thunderbluff and the Echo Isles. The Alliance-Horde conflict is cooling down right now - I have even heard of other trolls entering our towns now that there are more Darkspear druids."

"Irien," started Cecilia as she finally looked up and arched her browns at her husband with concern. "You know his history…what if somebody from Warsong recogni-"

"Then they can't prove anything!" Irien interrupted with the utmost confidence. "Keeper Ordanus has met with so many tauren and a few trolls, and for sure some of them have blood on their hands from the past battles. If they can repent, certainly someone married to a night elf can, and should even be accepted as a guest."

The two elves went back and forth for a few minutes, Irien absolutely insisting that Khujand would be safe and Cecilia perhaps seeing the soundness of her reasoning but fearing for her husband nonetheless. It was only when he began scratching his head that they turned their attention to him.

"Your turn, Mr. Soon-to-be-safely-traveling in Ashenvale," Irien said with a slap to the table in front of Khujand. "What did the crazy drug dealer who you swapped identities with say?"

When he didn't answer, she snatched his letter away as he shared a worried look with the elder elf. Irien actually read the Orcish letter out loud with her terrible accent, the three of them taking in the words slowly.

 _Khujand, Groty, Groty, Khujand, so nice to hear you be back on Kalimdor. I was beginning to worry that I wouldn't get the chance for thanking you properly._

 _You set me free, really. Since I escaped from that execution you set me up for - nice work, by the way - I be having the time of my life. Got quite a few of the younguns from our villages working for me now - every day we hustling, you know._

 _Anyway, I heard that the real Groty's mama passed away and was sorry I missed her. I found her grave at Razor Hill and was sad that I'm too busy to leave a gift, but I was happy to hear that your two biological children be living in Sen'jin City. Zulwatha be their mama's name, yeah? Hear she be a pretty one._

 _Seeing as how legally, I be their father now and you just a stranger, I been thinking about paying them a visit - say, oh, in a week from today. Unless, of course, you find our den and apologize to me real nice like in person._

 _I hear you took and shacked up with some ex-Alliance mama down in Ratchet. Must think you the shit now that you be hooking up with an elfie, yeah, real nice. I got eyes and ears everywhere - hope we meet down here in my den and not at your place some night._

 _Much love,_

 _Groty, Khujand, Khujand, Groty_

 _P.S. Don't try contacting the local authorities. You already know they be too scared to get involved._

Khujand had already risen as Irien finished the closing and was opening the door under the stairs leading to the small cellar.

"Where are you going?" asked Irien sincerely. Cecilia was following after him, already knowing the answer.

"Ta Durotar. Tanight."

"Wait, we need to plan this!" Irien called after them, unable to fit in the small cellar along with the weapon racks, armor cases and two humongous former fighters.

"I'm going with you," Cecilia said firmly.

"It's Horde territory, girl."

"You heard what Irien said; the war has died down, and I'm your wife."

"Durotar ain't normal territory; people ain't used ta seein' elves."

"Then they'll be less hostile. Ashenvale was more hotly contested and the fighting has still died down enough that you're coming with me."

"I'm what?"

"Guys!" Irien tried to interrupt in vain, but was drowned out. "We need to plan! I'm still a part of this weird surrogate family!"

"My sister sent the letter three weeks ago; we can go any time. I'm going with you to Durotar to handle this asshole, and then you're coming with me to Ashenvale, seeking quarter with Keeper Ordanus and experiencing the family and homeland of your wife, which is your home too whether the sentinels like it or not."

"Guys, why do you need to go to Durotar at all?"

"They're my kids biologically, Irien." Khujand's voice, like Cecilia's, was echoing against the cellar walls along with the sounds of the two of them trying to block one another from being the first to finish donning their armor. "Even if I have a new life now, and will start a family here with Cici, and Zulwatha and her new husband take care of those two kids, they're still my flesh and blood. I need ta end this guy and then cut off from that old life for good."

"I can come too!" Irien pleaded begrudgingly, in spite of the fact that she was the last person on Azeroth to plead for anything.

"Irien, you said you could cover me at the office with training the outrunners and translation work. Plus, if this scumbag really does have people watching our house, we will need you to keep the bruisers informed and catch them. If they find this place unoccupied, they might try to burn down everything we've worked for."

"Okay! Okay…this is all happening so fast though, you both need to sit down and…what the hell, how did you both don your armor so fast?"

The two came back upstairs to the kitchen, Cecilia already wearing her full set of Third War-era huntress style plate armor. It would normally take ten minutes or more to strap on such intricate gear - especially since this set was authentic elven and not a goblin knockoff - but twelve thousand years of repitition had taught her how to speed up the process, especially with her husband's assistance. Khujand, for his part, had begun using various animal bones of convenient shapes to protect his neck, face and torso toward the end of the campaign on Draenor in addition to the arcanite bracers and shinguards and the leather gloves and troll shoes he had been wearing for a long while.

"It's simple, Irien," dictated Cecilia, her organizational experience with the sentinel army showing. "I'll pack the clothing and supplies properly, take them to Thunderhorn's stables, rent two raptors and saddle them up with him while I finagle his Earthen Ring insignia for a neutral letter introducing Khujand to the Laughing Sisters as a reformed member of the Horde who strives to uphold the balance of nature and the spirit world. Khujand will explain to Sonja that he will disappear for a while and then convince the local Cenarion Circle representative to write a preemptive letter to Keeper Ordanus at Raynewood Retreat seeking quarter and freedom of passage as a neutral traveler to repent for his offenses to the balance before he meets up with me at the stables. You will go to the post office, ignore Allison and write letters to Lorthiras telling him the full story of what we're planning and to my sister explaining only that we will travel north through the Barrens and will contact her when we first reach Ashenvale. And then tell Allison she is an unloved crone and that I will be taking time off. Got it?"

"Uhhhh…"

"Alright, let's move out!"

Khujand was already out the door, the skulls on his belt rattling as he made his way to the alchemy hut. Cecilia dragged the travel bags up from the cellar only to find Irien still standing in the middle of the kitchen. As wise as the younger Kaldorei was - Irien was born during the War of the Shifting Sands and thus was over one millennia old herself - there was still a shy apprehension on her face as she looked up at her best friend, mentor and surrogate older sister.

"We'll write to you at each opportunity to fill you in on what's happening," Cecilia explained with a hand on Irien's shoulder. "I'll protect him in the sacred forest, and you know some scumbags peddling drugs are nothing I can't handle. One last adventure and we'll be back for good, right?"

For only the third time since Cecilia had known Irien, she saw a look of vulnerability on the sharpshooter's face. The first was when Irien had admitted to failing at the ranger academy at Auberdine rather than quitting, and the second was when Khujand got stabbed in the throat during a melee on Draenor. Irien cared for them both dearly, and any sign of weakness from her was a rare and painful moment for the whole bizarre family.

"You two, uncle Geldor and my new aunt are all I have," Irien admitted demurely as she avoided eye contact. "I can't face the rest of my family again. Not until I make something of myself out here. I'd be alone-"

"Put those thoughts out of your mind," Cecilia instructed quickly and formally, before breaking out into a sly grin. "Trust in my command. We'll be in touch the entire way, and before you know it, we'll be back, minus one villain from the past and plus souvenir handicrafts from the homeland."

A knowing glance and a few more select words, and Irien was off to give Khujand a proper goodbye and then to the post office.

* * *

Cecilia and Thunderhorn already had both raptors saddled up with the travel bags tied on and a stamped letter he'd written as an Earthen Ring representative to the Laughing Sisters by the time Khujand had arrived. He couldn't help out with the packing. With as many skills as Cecilia had managed to pass on to her husband - given her extreme age, she was an expert at leatherworking, weaving, pottery, glassblowing, shoe repair, jewelcrafting, first aid, blindfolded spear throwing and limbo - she still couldn't seem to teach him how to pack a bag of travel necessities properly. She packed so fast that it wasn't really necessary anyway, and what was most important was that he had managed to convince the local druids to write directly to Keeper Ordanus himself requesting freedom of passage while in night elven lands.

"Sounds like the two of have a mighty long quest ahead," Thunderhorn said while scratching the chin of one of the two mounts. "Walk with the Earthmother…and please bring my raptors back."

The couple both laughed heartily at the tauren's good-natured sense of humor as they mounted the two reptiles, though Cecilia couldn't help but turn back to the shaman turned animal whisperer turned Steamwheedle stablemaster.

"Thunderhorn," she asked Thunderhorn. "We've known you since Draenor and we still don't know your real name."

Thunderhorn looked perplexed before Thunderhorn spoke. "My name is Thunderhorn," Thunderhorn said.

Cecilia and Khujand both shot Thunderhorn a bewildered look as the night elf tried again. "Thunderhorn is a family name," she said to Thunderhorn in reference to the name Thunderhorn. "What's your personal name?"

Thunderhorn pondered the question about the name Thunderhorn a moment before Thunderhorn spoke again. "Bring me my two raptors - and yourselves - back alive, and I will tell," said Thunderhorn cautiously.

"You can count on both," she replied to Thunderhorn confidently as Thunderhorn's raptors turned away from Thunderhorn's stables while carrying Thunderhorn's friends.

And with that, the well supplied wife and husband duo road out of town and to the north, first to Durotar and then to Ashenvale as they journeyed on their last adventure together, praying that nothing would tear them apart along the way.


	4. Welcome to Durotar

Two figures rode dinosaurs alongside the waterway that created the border between the Barrens and Durotar. Khujand poked his raptor's sides with his heels, giving a small yip as he urged the dinosaur to speed up a bit as they traversed the sandy riverbank.

"Over tha soft sand! Over!"

Cecilia kept her pace next to him, following the directions he gave every half mile or so. Although she was far beyond most other living beings in terms of her tracking and navigation skills, this was new territory for her, and Khujand had traveled this coastline of the Barrens at least once before.

They held the higher speed, the crisp morning air mixing with the salt of the brackish water in a way that, now that they had settled down in Ratchet, felt like home.

A large sand and rock outcropping jutted from the mainland, and their mounts had to tread ankle-deep water for a few yards. Their drop in speed was only momentary.

"This is the outcropping we saw on the map," she huffed as they returned to dry land. "It shouldn't be much further to the marshes."

Everything had happened so fast. Within five minutes of reading the threatening letter from Garot'jin, Cecilia and Khujand had both donned their armor and she had already formulated a basic plan. When you've served so long in the military of a forest-dwelling semi-nomadic society for thousands of years, planning marches and platoon movements becomes second nature. Her plan may have been formulated in only five minutes, but it was as sound as anything a commander from among the lesser races would have come up with across five days.

It was simple: sneak into Durotar on raptors, hunt for information on Khujand's sort-of lookalike bearing his birth name, take him out and then move on to Ashenvale. Though bringing her Darkspear husband into the sacred homeland of the Kaldorei was gutsy even in the view of Irien - the gutsiest person they both knew - Cecilia was confident that the simmering of tensions provided a window for travel and shelter across factions.

Either way, they would have to cross that bridge when they reached it. For now, she had to rely on the rather expensive map they had purchased at a discount price through a Steamwheedle cartographer and her husband's recollection of a "homeland" he had only occupied for a few years in his late teens between his tribe's exodus from the Lost Isles and his imprisonment. For the remainder of last night on through the day, they had ridden their well-rested raptors along the eastern coast of the Barrens, moving north through the narrow, uninhabited coastal strip that was less than half a mile wide. It would have made a fine place for new settlements to be built, yet it was unoccupied even by makrura. Eventually, the ocean on their right hand side gave way to the southern coast of Durotar, the deep red color of its entire landscape separated from the golden-beige of the northern Barrens by a river bearing seawater mixed with mineral water.

It was noon time the next day when they finally stopped to rest their mounts. Although Cecilia's biology was nocturnal and Khujand's diurnal, their living compromise as well as the shifting work schedules during the past few months had prepared them for sleeping and waking at irregular hours.

Still on their raptors, they found a particularly elevated ledge to descend and get a better look of the land before settling down for an afternoon nap. It was at least forty feet higher than the now extremely narrow coastal strip below, matching the height of a similar ledge on the coast of Durotar across from them. The light spring breeze nipped at their long ears as they took in the surrrounding views and scents.

"It seems as though the Barrens and Durotar were once fused into a single landmass," Cecilia mused as she swept the banks of the sizeable river up north. "Time and erosion from the currents of the melting snow in Winterspring likely drove them apart over the years."

Though Cecilia generally never intended to fall into story mode, her advanced age caused her to do so without even trying. Theirs was a strange relationship; she was literally five-hundred times Khujand's age, and as one would expect, immeasurably wiser and more mature than he (though she was the first person to point out that her people's arrogance rendered them still less wise and more naive than many thought). Like her sister Unelia's marriage with the human Johan, there was a teacher-student aspect to the relationship that men from the more patriarchal societies - humans and trolls both prime examples - would normally find overbearing and perhaps slightly emasculating.

It was just Cecilia's luck that, like her sister, she had ended up with a man from such a culture who was still both humble and curious enough to embrace the nature of the relationship without feeling threatened.

"Ya sound like ya speculatin'," he answered while he focused on the first signs of marshy greenery across the river. "Ya lived through tha Sunderin'; wouldn't ya and ya friends have been able ta observe?"

She shook her head wistfully as her hazy, millennia old memories creeped out from the back of her mind in response to the question. "None of us ventured to these parts after our world was ripped apart," Cecilia explained clinically as though the memories were not hers. "A huge percent of our population lived directly around Mount Hyjal, maybe an equal portion lived in Ashenvale like my family did. The tauren regrouped after the Sundering as well and populated the more arid landscapes. We bore no ill will to one another, but we kept to ourselves and they kept to theirs. Stonetalon has always mostly been ours, plus select outposts in Desolace and Feralas, but otherwise we considered Ashenvale and Stonetalon to be our southern borders. Until the War of the Shifting Sands - which was thousands of years later and very, very far from this place - we simply never left our forests in the northern half of the continent."

Even the raptors appeared enraptured by her explanation, holding still and uncharacteristically quiet. There was a short pause and she realized that her husband was staring at her in awe as he watched her form against the clear blue sky, easily in view from their vantage point. She blushed slightly, both from his admiration and from the realization that they could still affect each other in such a way. Her ears twitched as she shut her eyes tight in slight embarrassment that the flush on her cheeks wouldn't go away. The twitch rattled her ear jewelry - raptor feathers matching the ones Khujand wore on the straps around his biceps and quadriceps on her left, and the thick braid of vibrant scarlet she had cut from his mane on her right. She felt a tickle on her chin as he tilted her face toward him to inspect her cheeks that had darkened almost to the violet-blue hue of her facial tattoo - two halves of a broken shield.

"Seems even us younger races have some new things ta share with ya," he joked warmly as he pinched that chin of hers that he always swore appeared too delicate to belong to a battle-hardened warrior like her.

"More than your people or mine realize," she said as she met his eyes. "One day, when we have children and you're dyeing your hair like me, everyone will be free to travel, and to know one another. So much has changed in the past decade, I'm sure it will be possible." She could see the edges of the toothy smile on his face peeking from behind the pieces of warpstalker skull and jawbone he wore to protect his face and knew it was a response to the confidence behind her prediction.

After exchanging mushy smiles for another half a minute, Khujand turned to the north and motioned with his free hand to a point just over the horizon where the river widened and was broken by a swamp delta, gripping the reins of his raptor with the other hand. "That's tha Southfury Watershed," he said as he pointed from the grassy Barrens in the west to a suddenly swampy Durotar in the east. "I ain't been there - it's a result of tha Cataclysm - but it's marked clear on tha map, and Sonja once told me about a troll den at tha southern portion, tucked against tha ridge."

The raptors chittered expectantly, bucking at first though obediently coming to a standstill as their two tall riders tugged on the reins. The sun beat down high overhead, and though the weather wasn't particularly hot that time of year, both riders and mounts were beat.

Cecilia adjusted the sunglasses she wore in place of her half-helmet during the daylight hours. "I might have an easier time riding after a few hours, along with these two," she crooned as she patted her raptor's shoulder. "There were some coconut palms below; we can set the bedrolls up there without needing to assemble the tent."

Taking her free hand in his, Khujand led her back down to the riverside as they rode, both intent on some food and rest before they planned any further.

* * *

"I can't read this thing…I think it says four in tha afternoon."

"Mmmm…huh?"

Cecilia stirred and rubbed her eyes as her husband/living pillow fiddled with the miniature gnomish clock he kept in his belt. To avoid removing all her armor, she had simply sat in the soft grass underneath the coconut palms and slid her bedroll underneath her lower back, using Khujand's barrel chest to rest her head. The position was somewhere in between lying down and leaning up, and helped her to avoid the possibility of the latches of her thorium plate armor digging into her skin.

With the weapons and travel gear laid to one side, the raptors were able to huddle directly against the trunks of the palm trees and all four travelers were able to sleep through the most intense heat of the day. Knowing it would be an opportune time to gain more ground, Cecilia stretched her arms and legs before she sat up, popped the joints in her neck and shoulders and sat up.

Bleary eyes focused on the clock. "Yes...yes, it's four. That was a good amount of sleep, I suppose." Leaning against him for a few minutes, she tried to focus on waking up slowly and keeping her mind clear, though it wasn't as easy as it had been just a decade before. "So we're going through the den, I take it?"

"Yeah, and that's based on Sonja's advice. Apparently they went and hollowed out a passageway inta Durotar that bypasses tha government checkpoints. They're isolated so nobody pays any mind ta them, and they probably don't know much about tha state of tha world."

"You mean to imply that they'll grant us safe passage."

"Tha people in that den are mostly hunter-gatherers. They're Darkspear like tha rest of us in tha Horde, but their lifestyle's gonna make them a bit less modernized," Khujand explained as he stretched his back and sat up next to her. "As long as there ain't any orcs or Sindorei around, they're gonna be more relaxed with ya - just stay close ta me."

He turned to face her completely as he poked the top of her armored wrist, looking down at her with a sense of urgency in his face. "That last part is pivotal," he added. "Any elf is gonna have a hard time on their own, and a night elf wouldn't even be given drinkin' water if she came without one of us ta vouch, unless she was literally dyin' of thirst. They wouldn't fight ya or anythin' but they wouldn't help ya either."

"You insinuate that their den cannot be avoided, actually," Cecilia said knowingly. They were familiar enough with each other not only to finish the other's sentences but also to predict sentences they hadn't even started saying yet. "I thought it was simply the better of two choices?"

"Well...yeah. Tha alternative is tha government checkpoint, and Durotar is tha Horde heartland. Maybe they wouldn't be outright hostile ta ya, but I can envision them turnin' ya away at tha gate. But these den dwellers...for them, it would probably be about rep and havin' an escort. Plus, they built tha water crossin's Sonja told me about, and they monitor their work. No way gettin' past without them seein', and we might be able ta get info about Garot'jin's operation as well." He shifted uncomfortably as he sat, a look of guilt in his eyes. "Ya know ya gonna have ta act different. Our women got a better position in society after we joined tha Horde, but it's still kinda bad."

Cecilia squeezed his hand while giving him a sympathetic look. "You have nothing to explain. I know we can't change an entire village, especially when we need safe passage. Just give me fair warning about what I should do, and I'll eat crow and deal with it." Before he had a chance to clean up camp, she scooted closer to him in the sand. "You do realize that in all the time we've been together, you've never told me how I should act in case we visit your people?"

Suddenly contrite, Khujand appeared both apologetic and distinctly uncomfortable with the question. "I never really thought we would need ta do so."

"Well, my husband does happen to be Darkspear. Irien and I have told you so much about our people and culture, and how to deal with us. It's only fair that you reciprocate."

"It's borin'," he replied with a click of his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"It's boring to you because you take it for granted," Cecilia retorted. "But I'm your wife and I'm telling you, I enjoy knowing about where you came from. Not just to deal with situations like the one we're about to face, but to know more about you."

"Cici, ya tha one with tha interestin' life. That's why Irien bugs ya about writin' ya story down."

"Alright, look, you're aware of how much my people still have to learn from the younger races about the modern world, right?" she said, prepared for a minor debate about it if need be.

"Yeah, ya told me, and I've observed." He didn't appear prepared and gave up rather quickly.

"Ergo, I have much to learn from you personally, even if you're one five hundredth my age," she chortled as she leaned in closer to him. "So I win again, and now you have to tell me."

Khujand raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Tell ya what?"

"The story of my husband."

"I thought our relationship is based on our similarities in tha present," he said inquiringly.

"Our relationship is mostly based on that, but I also share stories about the past. The key word there is I also share, but not you. Khujand, I literally don't even know what town you were born in and we're freaking married."

"Hey, we didn't rush into anythin'!"

Laughing heartily at his sensitivity, Cecilia reached forward and squeezed his cheeks with her hand. "I didn't mean it that way. What I meant is, I know everything about you as a person, but only roughly where you're from and you told me nothing in terms of detail. What are my man's roots!"

Seemingly defeated but hesitant at the same time, he looked off into the river and ran a hand over the back of his neck while considering his answer. When he turned back to her again, she was waiting with an expectant expression on her face, intent on finding out if his prison sentence was entirely responsible for his manic cuteness or if perhaps his upbringing had something to do with it.

"I was born in tha far north of Stranglethorn, that part I did tell ya before," Khujand started as Cecilia listened with an exaggerated look of interest on her face that caused him to fight off a laugh. "I had ignoble roots...I think I might've mentioned that too, back at that restaurant in Talador. My family is technically non-tribal, and joined tha Darkspear as conflict refugees; I don't think I told ya that part. We ain't got ties ta anybody else and we just followed our adopted tribe from one place ta another."

The two of them sat there, staring at each other as it dawned on her that he thought he was finished.

"That's it?" she asked incredulously.

"Well...yeah, uh, what else didya wanna know?"

"You're a jungle troll! You don't have any tales about the Gurubashi Empire, or your people's exploits in the rainforest across the ocean?"

"Cici, we ain't Darkspear originally, what we did was just marry inta that tribe over time," he sighed in resignation, though she couldn't discern the source of his apprehension. "All trolls are tribal, so for families who're mixed or simply moved around so much that they can't claim tribal descent, they're nothin'. We don't got no story. That's tha point."

"What about your family tree? Traditional cultures typically value genealogy, what did you learn from your parents?"

"I told ya before girl, my daddy was a spearman guardin' village entrances and chasin' off wild animals and my mama was a weaver, just makin' mats and door coverin's and stuff."

"Grandparents?"

Khujand fell silent, almost begging with his eyes for Cecilia to drop the topic. She didn't; they were married now. She felt he owed her his stories, even the uncomfortable ones, given how much she'd shared with him.

"All different species of trolls are violent people, Cici," he tried to explain. "Orcs believe in battle and thunder and stuff, but they got a code of honor even stricter than tha humans. Draenei got a history of conflict but mostly as victims. Ya people and all elves fight with magic or technology, like dwarves. Trolls...we fight based on instinct. We ain't that different from animals."

One of her long, feral eyebrows raised to mimick his raise from earlier. "So your grandparents were soldiers?"

He shook his head, but didn't elaborate. He was crazy if he thought she'd let him off the hook, though, or if he thought he had any reason to be shy in front of her.

"I'm not leaving this spot until you share yourself with me," Cecilia stated firmly but kindly, flashing him a warm smile.

Sighing deeply, Khujand looked down at the sand, which she let slide if it made things easier on him. She wanted to know her husband's childhood and family so they could understand each others' behavior better, not so they could dig up old skeletons without reason.

"My daddy was born cause of a raid by one settlement on another," he said shyly.

"So...he was conceived after one side achieved victory? Like a celebration?"

Khujand winced and Cecilia could tell he wasn't being reluctant just because of his usual sheepishness when speaking about himself. There was definitely something there.

"My daddy was conceived from rape," he admitted.

There was a long pause as Cecilia tried and failed to formulate an appropriate reaction. "Oh," was all she managed to stutter, feeling like she was the sheepish one in the process. Honestly, how was she supposed to react to that?

"That ain't rare or tragic for my people; it's pretty normal, actually. Tha victors took their spoils, and then my grandpa beat my grandma ta an inch of her life after he was done with her and dumped her in tha underbrush. Just like so many trolls did back then and still do now when they finish killin' other trolls, which is tha number one cause of death among trolls. That's our way."

Embarrassed and realizing that she was the one who had been unprepared, Cecilia felt her ears droop. She still wanted to know what had led to the Khujand she knew and loved, but she also knew that as a rather domesticated and culturally neutral troll, he didn't enjoy speaking of his own people. Now she had a little bit more insight as to why.

"Grandma was one of tha few survivors, there were maybe four of them I think," he continued. "She never learned which tribe or which settlement it was, and her settlement never had a name cause it was too small like where ya grew up. One of tha four died while searchin' for a place ta live and tha rest found a Darkspear town. Grandma survived by washin' clothes and babysittin' kids for tha more skilled people in tha tribe, and she raised my daddy until she died when he was thirteen, which is considered a man for our people."

"So...your father never learned about his own father?" she asked.

"Not much. He killed him, but he didn't learn too much, no."

Her eyes widened. "How did that happen?"

"Well, my grandpa's settlement didn't stop tha raidin'," Khujand elaborated. "Not so long before I was born, daddy started lookin' for grandpa, and killed him. Swore he'd break tha cycle. Mama was maybe seven months pregnant with me at tha time."

"He did break the cycle, dear," she said while scooting closer to him. "Even with the mistakes both you and I've made, we're trying to atone, and help the world become a better place any way we can. Even with everything that happened, I think your father would be happy were he to see how everything turned out." Khujand nodded shyly; much of his guilt over his war crimes had subsided since they'd been together and devoted much of their wages and weekends to charity, though obviously moving on from their own checkered pasts would still take more time.

"And...your mother?" Cecilia asked shyly, taking his hand in hers in an attempt to coax him to continue even if it hurt. She wished she could take some of that hurt on herself, but identifying with the story was difficult. The history of her people and all elves saw them facing threats from the outside together; the thought of how trolls were their own biggest enemies, and how they couldn't feel safe even with each other, was one of the most foreign concepts she could imagine despite their peoples' shared origins. "What was her story?"

"Also of ignoble birth. Her own grandparents had ta flee but nobody ever talked about from what. Or maybe they did; I can't remember. For some reason, I think it had somethin' ta do with a flood or a sinkhole, but I know that all their other family members died horribly. So my great grandparents found that same town but I don't know what they did for a livin'. My grandparents from my mama's side then worked as hunter-gatherers, like all tha other people that didn't have skills. They ate what they caught and made their own clothes and tools, just livin' within tha...I guess, walls of tha town."

"You guess walls?" Cecilia asked in confusion.

"Ya...well, we cut down trees, removed tha branches and set up tall ramparts. Like a wall of a frontier fort made from tree trunks."

"The furbolgs do the same."

"Ya, I've seen pictures. Uh...anyway, mama learned ta weave which meant she had skills. She had currency. Daddy was my height and I ain't too tall for a jungle troll, only slightly above average, but he was buff. Maybe my size, but without all tha hard labor I did in prison ta get big. He was naturally big, so he was a guard. He and mama both had no real roots or nobility, so they saw each other when they were both maybe fifteen and got married two weeks later."

Cecilia's eyes grew wide again. "That...is...rapid." They both laughed, and she saw in his eyes and demeanor that he'd loosened up a bit.

"Yeah, but our lifespans're short. It's normal for us," he said in a calm voice. Shifting comfortably and humming to himself as he made eye contact again, he finished. "Tha village was far, far ta tha north of Stranglethorn. That's why my accent sounds almost like tha ice trolls in Dun Morogh or tha forest trolls in tha Ghostlands. We're pure jungle troll, not mixed at all, but we just talk different. We were so far north that our village was almost in Westfall, near where ya brother-in-law was from. We fled ta tha main area of tha Darkspear when tha Bloodscalps came, but I was too young ta remember. From then on, I just grew up on islands, hoppin' from one ta another with that rest of tha Darkspear, which took us in like tha rest. My story ain't different from Vol'jin's, if ya ever heard of him."

"Of course I did, Khujand," she chuckled. "He's the leader of an entire nation. So I guess my husband had a similar life to a world leader."

"Naw, pssh, I didn't say that, girl. I just saw him sometimes when his daddy was teachin' us."

Her jaw dropped open. Processing what he'd just said, there was a slight twinge of bemused anger in her chest and on her face.

"Whashyu thinkin' about, Cici?"

She grit her teeth, though she was more likely to just pinch him than scold him. "We've been together for a year and half and you never once told me that you grew up with the freaking president of the freaking Horde."

He shrank. "We don't care about factionalism anymore!"

"I know that, honey...oh, seriously? I'm not mad about that, I'm mad you never told me something so amazing!"

"Um...what?"

"Khujand...you were childhood friends with the warchief of the entire Horde? You never once thought that significant enough to tell me?"

"Naw, ya got it wrong, we weren't friends," he insisted with a nervous wave of his hand. "We never hung out, his daddy just taught voodoo and I was one of tha kids that had potential. Or so they thought. I never knew Vol'jin well enough except ta know I didn't care for him but didn't quite know why. He'd never remember me in a million years."

Cecilia smirked at him for a moment before shaking her head. "You have a lot more to tell me on our way to this den, buster." Before standing, she dusted herself off as he looked up at her. "Thank you for telling me about your past; whether you realize it or not, sharing this helps me understand us better."

Khujand hunched over and tried to become less visible as she ran her hands through his mane. "Ya stories are a thousand times more interestin' than mine," he said sincerely. "But I can tell ya whatever ya want on our way out, I guess. I ain't never told anybody about this before; I never had an Irien till I met Irien. And I guess ya have a right ta know even before Irien."

He bowed his head to hers to nuzzle noses, both of them holding before they rose to pack and head further north, staying on the lookout for any official Horde scouts in the delta. Things had simmered down between the two factions politically, but one could never be too safe this close to a factional capitol.

It took more than an hour to reach the narrower part of the delta they had seen over the horizon from their ledge, and it was surprising how few wild animals there were at that point. Aside from some scattered, fidgety tallstriders munching on swamp vegetation and a single basking crocolisk, most of the southern deltas of the watershed were quite and empty of all except small animals that afternoon. Eventually, the couple stopped along the banks of the Barrens side of the watershed, again surveying the landscape in silence.

Straightening up from atop his mount, Khujand was able to spy the start of the water crossing right under their noses.

"There," he said while pointing to what appeared driftwood lying longways among the reeds. "Nobody else would recognize it. We keep our water crossin's partially submerged out of habit. Most foreigners - outlanders, as ya people say - won't recognize it, and they can't progress cause we don't lay these crossin's unless the water is either deep, made of quicksand or filled with sharp rocks."

He looked to the side when his wife didn't answer, and found her staring at him the same way he had done after her story earlier in the day. Before he could open his mouth, she pinched his cheek and puckered her lips like a duck, creating a smacking sound at him.

"See? You teach me too. And you also blush afterward."

Shaking his head and laughing as she tried to tug on his long earlobe, he took her hand in his to keep their focus on the matter at hand.

"Walk where I walk, stop when I stop. Once we see tha locals, don't make eye contact, not even with tha other women. If we gotta get down, remember: they gonna know that I have a past cause of my tusks, but they gonna sense tha voodoo on me, too, so they ain't likely to be trustin' nor hostile right off tha bat."

Khujand turned away from her and gazed across the delta for a moment, pursing his lips as he carefully considered what he was about to say. While they normally took their time in conversation without pushing each other, Cecilia could feel that he was preparing to inform her of something he wished he didn't have to. She gave his strong, warm hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I love you, dear, and I won't hold anything against you," she whispered to him soothingly as she leaned in close. "I know you would never disrespect me intentionally but that you can't transform the whole society either. Just try to give me fair warning; you know what I will and won't be surprised by."

He returned hee gaze and her squeeze, the almost guilty slack in his neck disappearing somewhat. "I love ya too, so much. Let's just look at it as a learnin' experience," he murmured, though their long ears were sensitive enough to pick up their quiet words in the light breeze. "They gonna expect ya ta be subordinate, or else ya might be a spy. Don't respond ta anythin' other guys say ta ya, and address anythin' ya say ta me or another woman, not even tha chief. And, uh…honey…ya gotta walk behind me, not beside me."

She pursed her lips as she tried to stifle a smile. "Kaldorei were patriarchal before the War of the Ancients," she chuckled, "but nothing like this. Another cultural experience in my long life is how I'll view it."

He looked down sheepishly and started to lead before she released her grip. "Hey," she said with one last tug to his hand. "I'll be fine, alright? Don't feel guilty for what you can't control."

Taking her spot behind him, the two moved across the reinforced driftwood bridges and small patches of delta soil as they crossed the very end of the Southfury River, several Darkspear watchmen already viewable from their treehouse outposts in the canopy of the small tropical woodland on the Durotar side of the river.


	5. Into the Trolls' Den

**A/N: The Zandali words that Cecilia doesn't understand are actual words from more than one language. Having learned five myself (every single one of them from unrelated language families), I can attest that both her and Khujand's knowledge of so many languages without formal study as well as her learning another language so quickly just by listening are 100% realistic. In fact, in places like India and West Africa, it's pretty normal for people to speak four or five languages even if they didn't go to school.**

 **My musing on troll population is based on the sheer number of enemy NPCs in ZG, ZD and all the other troll capitols; they seem to outnumber all other NPCs in game by a margin.**

With the last of the delta isles of the south end of the Southfury Watershed behind them, Khujand led Cecilia across the last of the driftwood water crossings. The combined weight of the Amazonian elf in her heavy armor, the brawny troll and two raptors caused the crossings to bob up and down in the muddy water slightly, but otherwise the driftwood moved surprisingly little. It was a testament to the primitive yet effective craftsmanship of his people, and an example of how intelligent life could thrive just about anywhere.

As they set foot on dry land, the full effect of the great Cataclysm a few years ago could be observed. Durotar was supposed to be a dry badland, yet the nutrient-rich waters and silts of the delta had deposited natural fertilizers such that this part of the land resembled Stranglethorn Vale. Khujand had told Cecilia few stories of his homeland or of his people in general, and she knew that by the standards of trolls, he was quiet, manic and overly sensitive. Domesticated, as Sonja once called him while suggesting that the cutting short of his tusks as a mark of shame at the time of his conviction for war crimes affected his psyche just as much as the six year sentence of slave labor that had followed it. She wondered if he would feel as out of place as she did among the jungle trolls of this small, unnamed den.

Straight ahead was the sheer face of a deep red rock wall, though its exact height was indiscernible due to the dense jungle trees closing off their vision on three sides. To the left and right of the clearing were two treehouses, each holding two watchmen with spears.

They eyed Khujand with a mixture of confusion and awe. Though his clipped tusks identified him as an ex-convict, the powerful glow in his red eyes and his double-bladed fel glaive signified him as a Shadow Hunter, the most powerful voodoo warriors in any troll society and the lore keepers of his given tribe. Realizing now that his countenance was likely the reason that a night elf like her was passing into the clearing without being questioned, Cecilia wondered why he spoke so little of that lore to her.

When he called up to the watchmen in Zandali, she understood more words than she had expected; even in their own tongue, trolls seemed to speak as slowly as elves. That, along with their more brutish yet still generally similar nature - lanky, long eared and inclined toward nature magic - only confirmed in her mind the rumors she had hears over millennia of her people being descended from his.

"What place xux be?" was what she understood from her husband's question.

She made a mental note to decipher the meaning of 'xux.' Cecilia spoke six languages already, though having learned several of them over a period of thousands of years, there was no danger of her forgetting as long as she stayed in practice. Darnassian was her mother tongue, and she learned Ursine while her sister learned Taurahe during the Long Vigil in order to communicate with their people's allies on Kalimdor. After the Third War and the end of the Vigil and her people's isolation, she quickly learned Nazja and Thalassian - both were more or less mutually intelligible with Darnassian anyway, and many people considered them dialects rather than languages, though that was a political issue. Common and Orcish were both learned from human and orc prisoners - the night elves fought several fierce battles with the Alliance at the outbreak of the Third War before later joining it - and she had been learning languages for so long that neither was particularly difficult.

She would be fluent in Zandali by now if Khujand hadn't been so insistent on speaking Darnassian all the time. Though he spoke four languages himself, his Orcish and Common were both learned verbally without reading or writing and were unpracticed and weak. Given that Cecilia ruled the roost at home, he found it easier to speak to her and Irien in a language comfortable for all three of them.

"Xux be our den," answered one of the watchmen as he shouldered his spear. He crouched low in the treehouse to get a better look at the odd couple as did his three comrades. "Fal not have a name; we fal not have ghorab sensuly."

Zandali was shockingly close to Darnassian in its rhythm, pronounciation and syntax, and despite not understanding much of the last sentence, Cecilia was now sure that the former was the origin of the latter, her people's age old prejudices be damned.

Further words were exchanged - much of which she missed while examining her surroundings for vantage points should crisis or conflict arise - and Cecilia missed how the exchange ended. Khujand's raptor trotted forward and hers followed, the more vocal of the watchmen eyeing them the whole way into the underbrush.

Knowing that troll ears were as sensitive as elf ears, she remained silent as they passed underneath the canopy over a small beaten path, both in awe of the fact that, just under four years from the Cataclysm, such dense undergrowth had sprouted up. They were already under the darkness of the wood and in view of the den's wooden entrance before Khujand spoke.

"There's no way around their place," he explained clinically as he leaned back toward her. "Past tha wood ta our left, tha marshes of tha watershed start again. Ta tha right is tha cliff face. Tha path in between was developed inta part of their den, so they control who comes and goes."

"Will they demand a toll?" Cecilia asked, feeling her modest coinpurse.

He shook his head, causing the animal horns protecting his neck to rattle. It was a style started by Garrosh Hellscream - the much-hated, overthrown dictator of the Horde from a few years ago - though Khujand somehow made it look good. "They're hunter-gatherers, they don't got any need for money. They might want some of our manufactured stuff - tha stuff they can't make themselves."

"Like our olive oil and spices?" she teased in reference to how they reunited in Gorgrond a year and a half ago.

He actually slowed down his raptor, turning even more to face her as she tried to claw his arm lightly. "They saved me once before," he chuckled deeply as they were both distracted by memories of guarded chats by a campfie washed over them both. Khujand snorted as his raptor started again, and looked at her apologetically again. "Keep in mind what I said ta ya earlier, yeah? Stick behind me and stick close. If ya see me deck another guy, don't get involved unless shit get's serious. I mean, like, tha entire den goes at me kinda serious. Otherwise, stay out."

"I got it," she affirmed in earnest, psyching herself up as they dismounted in front of the den entrance and took their raptors by the reins.

Having worked on a goblin-run passenger ship with allegiance to no faction other than the cartels for several years, Cecilia knew she was far more culturally aware and open-minded than most Kaldorei, especially those of her generation. She had worked as a security enforcer protecting (and disciplining) travelers from every race on Azeroth and quite a few of the races from Outland, various subdivisions of trolls included. Being married to one - who was well versed in their traditions, no less, even if he was lax and unobservant of them - had also given her an insight into the less advanced cousins of elves like herself.

Still, she knew this would be different. All people behaved differently in multiracial (and especially neutral, multifactional) settings. On top of that, trolls had always been a minority among the travelers she had encountered. They were by far the most populous race on all of Azeroth despite their lack of technology and high culture - trolls numbered around a hundred million worldwide due to their birth rates and scattered villages, and thus outnumbered murlocs twice over, or humans four times over, or orcs five times over, and the latter three were the next most populous races. Regardless, the overwhelming majority of trolls of all breeds not only rejected all factions, organizations and even visitors but also were downright hostile toward merely accepting visitors and international trade. With the exception of the few tribes of both jungle trolls and forest trolls that had joined the Horde (Darkspear, Shatterspear and Raventusk respectively), all trolls were culturally the polar opposites of the refined elves that had descended from them, and according to Khujand, even Horde trolls who strayed from the 'civilized' ways of the orcs for too long - he referred to orcs as the civilized ones without a hint of irony - would quickly revert to their barbarous roots.

"Speak ta me in Darnassian, and be quiet and downcast when ya do," he instructed her with a sternness uncharacteristic of his usual reverence for her as the head of the household. "Don't let them know that ya understand a word of Zandali. And if somebody touches ya, give him a dirty look but let me handle him. Don't show that ya have any fight in ya, even when ya observe that a few of our women do. They gonna expect ya ta act totally different."

He hesitated before opening the rickety door of bamboo shafts secured together with reeds, turning to her with the same apologetic look. She placed her hand on his shoulder before he could continue.

"Don't apologize," she said with a sincere smile. "I told you, I understand that you can't change them. Besides, you so rarely tell me about your roots, I'm actually excited in a way. It will be fascinating to see where you came from."

Nodding, he turned and led them both through the door. The natural odor of earth and ozone filled her nostrils, and she was reminded of the barrow dens the menfolk of her people often inhabited, or the furbolg dugouts she had visited on diplomatic missions thousands of years ago. The images and feelings were often difficult for her vast, ancient memory to recall, but the sounds and smells were always easy. The rock ledge had been carved out here, with an awning having been left above them just tall enough to fit someone Khujand's height so as to protect them from the elements. To their left, opposite the rock wall, was jungle so dense that it seemed to have been cultivated that way intentionally, and it was impossible to see more than a few yards out. Removing her sunglasses, Cecilia was able to see perfectly fine in the low lighting despite the faded glow of her shining silver eyes, and she knew that the lack of lighting insinuated a den of trolls that were especially far from the norms of modern life. It took a whole minute for them to traverse the entire closed off walkway despite their long strides, but when they finally did and reached the deep pit covered almost entirely by jungle canopy above it that formed the central public area of the den, Cecilia not only understood her husband's previous warnings but also realized how true her impression was all those years ago at Mor'shan, when she gazed at Khujand the night he smuggled her out of jail and viewed him not so much as another species but as a primordial elf.

"Xux not be cheating!" shouted one from a group of three males squatting in the dirt immediately to the couple's right as they entered the end.

More squabbling broke out over what appeared to be a game of tic-tac-toe with sticks in the dirt, and several small children approached the men as they calmed down. There appeared to be around a dozen adults in the pit - slightly more women than men, just like with night elves even after the men awoke from the Emerald Dream - and a somewhat higher number of children of various ages. Aside from the presence of young people, the low population reminded her of the ancestral grove she lived in for the Long Vigil - she never did like the name 'Serenity' given to it by the Alliance authorities - and the primary difference was the size and cleanliness. The floor was dirt and the various carved out storage rooms and paths leading up to treehouse dwellings were cramped, especially considering the size of the inhabitants.

"Hey!" grumbled another male as he motioned toward the interracial pairing without pointing. It was only then that Cecilia had noticed Khujand slouching, a habit he had broken many years before. Hunched over like that, he was the same size as most of them, even in terms of weight; he was a bit heavyset compared to the Darkspear she was used to seeing, but these people also seemed to be a bit large.

Khujand took Cecilia's raptor by the reins and moved out in front, leaving her to stand empty handed behind her husband and the two dinosaur mounts. "Nra?" he grunted with the base turned up in his voice. Or spoke. She wasn't sure if it was a word she didn't understand or just a noise.

There were more grunts as the other male tried to say something about the raptors as Khujand interrupted him rudely, drawing attention from the other jungle trolls seated around the edges of the central area and leaning against the walls of adjacent hallways. Without warning, Khujand yanked the screeching raptors forward and handed the reins to the other male, who quickly led the reptiles - and the couple's weapons - out through another pathway. Cecilia, the seasoned, confident war veteran with thousands of years of experience fighting demons and monsters, was suddenly left with a very exposed feeling as a gaggle of children and several chatting females peeked behind Khujand to get a better look at her. Instinctively, she moved up against his back like she had done while he snuck her out of Mor'shan nine years prior, clinging to the leather baldric running across his back to make herself as invisible as possible without actually shadowmelding.

There was more shouting, but due to a combination of the muffled sounds from behind her husband's broad, muscular back, the natural reverberation from the earthen walls of the pit and the tendency of the jungle trolls to interrupt each other, she understood little of the exchange. She followed closely behind as Khujand stepped into the middle of the pit, the children staring up at the odd pair. Their long hair and ears as well as their underdeveloped tusks caused them to greatly resemble the night elf children Cecilia had seen since the end of isolation and the return of fertility to her people, their hair and eye color the only major difference. The chatting women remained behind them, though she could distinctly make out references to Khujand's tusks and Cecilia's being an elf, and discerned that it was likely a rude comment. That his tusks had been clipped to only about four inches made him rather unattractive to troll women, and although the fact that they didn't have designs on her husband should have felt reassuring, her sense that they were insulting him as having mated with an elf because he simply couldn't attract a troll female filled her with resentment.

"We be looking for the drug chung," Khujand grunted loudly in the center of the pit, drawing more uncomfortable attention to his wife huddled behind him. Zandali had always sounded so sweet when he spoke it to her, though given the tense stares directed at the two of them now, it sounded aggressive.

The chatting died down and was replaced by quiet murmurs among the tribespeople, and the three females from before began ushering the children through an exit that appeared to lead to a rope bridge surrounded both above and below by the branches of tall trees. 'Chung,' Cecilia assumed, meant 'dealer.' Another male, appearing young and brash, sauntered right up to her larger husband and attempted to point at her.

"Who xux be - gah!" Just as she had started to realize that 'xux' meant 'this,' her train of thought and the young man's sentence were cut off by his groan as Khujand grabbed his wrist and twisted.

"MY territory!" was what she understood from her husband's bellowing as he moved forward and left her with her back to a rack of animal bones. The younger man's friends stood up slowly, but didn't move forward to help.

There was more indecipherable shouting as the young man struggled and Khujand's red eyes lit up with an electric glow. Cecilia could feel the voodoo radiating from him, which meant the other jungle trolls would as well. His ego was never inflated after his years in the other side of the prison bars had humbled him, and she guessed that if he was making a show of power this early on into the standoff, the tension was beginning to boil over fast. One of the females waltzed beside Cecilia and began inspecting her with an almost condescending smirk, leaning against the wall with only a foot of distance between them.

It was then that Cecilia realized that just as Khujand was slightly above average size for a Darkspear, Sonja, the rogue-turned-alchemy trainer who had been her close confidante for even longer than Irien, was below average. Cecilia herself was abnormally tall for a night elf - taller than most of the men, even taller than her uncle Elindir who was a powerful druid even more ancient than she. Yet now, the backward Darkspear woman in front of her was tall enough to look downward toward Cecilia as she twirled a loose strand of her orange mane with the digits of her three-fingered hand, again resembling a prehistoric elf that had not developed as fully.

The other males joined in the shouting, though an equal number of them had directed their irritation at the youngblood squirming in Khujand's vice grip.

"I be asking one sayel," Khujand bellowed again toward the three males standing near a storage cave in his unaccented but slower manner of speaking his mother tongue. "And lebad we be on our way." Normally it would have been fun to fill in the gaps she didn't understand based on the context, but given the visible irritation among the other males and the nearly overbearing curiosity of the females, it just felt like a struggle.

"They be having their areen to the south of here," an older, war paint decorated male said to Khujand while staring at the squirming youngblood, motioning for the smaller man to stop tugging. Once he was still, Khujand released his grip and fell back into a slouch and everyone quieted down save the children, who were babbling as they took turns poking Cecilia's heavy armor. "We do not talk to them, but we know they be in the cliffs to the south. Razor Hill people know more than us."

'Do.' 'Fal' must mean 'do,' 'fal not' means 'do not.' This was easier for her to learn than Common had been back when Johan had taught her.

When the orangeheaded female chortled something right past Cecilia to another group of females on the other side - her speech was too slurred to understand - the elf chose to huddle against her husband's back again rather than retort. Her warrior's heart was strained to rely on him so fully like some helpless damsel, but she was out of her element and didn't want to escalate a conflict that could force his hand against his brethren.

She missed more tense words exchanged between the menfolk of the den, though she could tell from the tones and body language that the inhabitants were both restraining themselves while also ushering the couple out due to Khujand's ambiguous status. As an outsider and a fellow jungle troll, he would normally been welcomed as a potential addition to their subtribe. As the husband of an elf - even were she a blood elf - they likely viewed him as either having bizarre taste or some sort of defect or deformity. As a marked former criminal, he should be an outcast and potential danger to the women and children. As a Shadow Hunter, he should have been a future candidate for leader of a local community. That the den inhabitants were confounded by his contradictory social status was obvious in the distant, detached awe mixed with mild standoffishness impregnating the mood.

Cecilia did notice, however, the sudden disappearance of her big, huggable husband's usual social awkwardness and manic behavior. As much as he disliked discussing his origins with her, his years of depression and melancholy from being both a jailer and in jail seemed to melt away and reveal a measure of confidence for those anxiety-filled moments.

Shocking her even more than the loud, overbearing behavior of the other trolls, Khujand turned toward her halfway and brusquely wrapped his massive hand around Cecilia's upper arm without even looking at her. He shouted something back at the still unfriendly group of males as he roughly pushed her forward through another exit leading to a rope bridge, the orangeheaded, gawking female and blueheaded youngblood male trailing behind them and stopping at the exit doorway with a teenage female that, for one psychotic rage-inducing moment like Irien had mentioned, tried to stroke Khujand's large tricep with her fingers. Trying to push it out of her mind, Cecilia forced herself forward and noticed more results of the Cataclysm: the ravine below was an enormous slice into the earth, a small stream trickling below but out of view due to the thick, leafy mass below, above and to all sides of them. Relatively cheery children and teenagers kept pace with the mixed-race couple on rope bridges to the left and right, shouting slogans and goodbyes from at least ten yards away as they watched Cecilia and Khujand enter a tunnel carved into the opposite cliff face, exit through the last few doors leading outside and cross another watchmen-rounded clearing to their raptors waiting for them.

As they left the isolated area and crossed into the furthest extent of jungle bizarrely jutting up from the cracked earth of the Horde's headquarter province, Cecilia distinctly heard Khujand mumbling under his breath about how much he hated trolls. The irony was overwhelming, and once they were out of earshot of what must have been yokels, she burst out laughing.


	6. Razor Hill Recuperation

Night had already fallen by the time the bonfires of Razor Hill had come into view. The shift from late afternoon to early evening was complete before Cecilia and Khujand had even exited from the last jungle vegetation sprouting up from the red soil, and they spent the remaining two and a half hours of sunlight either in silence or chatting about mundane matters.

It was mostly for the sake of her husband's mood. She could sense the festering irritation within him, and resigned herself to simply riding by his side and occasionally reaching out and linking her fingers with his as their raptors leapt and bound over the jagged rocks and crags. The peace and quiet would do him some good, and since she knew there were still hours left in their trek even after the moon rose, she correctly predicted that slowly helping him to calm down would help him turn back to his old pleasant, shy self again by the time they set up camp.

As uncouth and unfriendly as the jungle trolls of the small, unnamed den had been, they were so isolated that they didn't even bother flying Horde banners nor did they seem especially hostile to the armored night elf their odd yet obviously combat experienced brother had brought along. On the way to their next destination, Cecilia had managed to pry some information out of Khujand regarding their reaction to her. Though all trolls supposedly had a racial hatred of elves, he claimed that was more directed at the group rather than the individual. Had she approached the den alone, she would have been refused passage of course, but according to him the same would have happened to a lone blood elf bearing a Horde flag and carrying a potrait of Vol'jin; not due to hate so much as mistrust. That she was a companion of one of their own caused them to assume she was either a prostitute he had fallen in love with, or he had simply bewitched her. In fact, the three chatting women that had mocked them as soon as they entered the den were weighing both possibilities out loud, as he admitted during their trip.

That he was able to talk about it without cussing was a sign that he had cooled off, and when they saw the first bonfires she suggested that they set up camp outside. Unlike a small settlement composed solely of his own people, Razor Hill was a true Horde city - not even neutral organizations tended to pass through. Once they reached Ashenvale, they were banking on Khujand being granted amnesty based on introduction letters bearing official seals from both the Earthen Ring and the Cenarion Circle - two unquestionably trusted and respected inter-factional organizations. In Durotar, however, Cecilia had no such protection, and waltzing up to the gate at night and trying to explain that his night elf wife wearing the armor of the feared and reviled sentinels was, like, totally friendly and open-minded seemed to be a slightly bad idea. Only slightly.

The first few clusters of boulders large enough to conceal their tent contained scorpion nests. Khujand's cleansing spell, unlike the healing spells he had started learning a few months ago, was flawless, and the raptors had quite the appetite for the arachnids. Still, they didn't want to take their chances or deal with the mandatory dry heaves that would come along with the stings.

Once they found an unoccupied trio of boulders where the raptors could detect no creeping arachnids, the wife and husband set up camp. The raptors plopped down and fell asleep the moment their saddles and travel packs were removed, and by the time they had set up the tent, started the campfire and removed their armor, Cecilia and Khujand began to feel the travel weariness as well.

Khujand sat in a loose, light pair of shorts as he finally cooked the two racks of lion ribs they had salted back in Ratchet. The two steel pokers were both aged and bent, but clean and unscratched, and he had set the rock ring up such that the ribs could hang over the fire without actually laying across the firewood.

Having discarded some paper waste and leather scraps by a nearby tree, Cecilia climbed back between the three boulders. Both the tent behind them and the campfire in front of them were obscured entirely from the view of passersby, and that there were several local families and groups of travelers also camping nearby - none of which had gained a clear view of her, thankfully - meant that there weren't likely to be any thieves or wild animals on the prowl. Dropping to her knees, she crept behind her husband and threw her arms around his neck, draping herself over his back as he rotated one rack of ribs.

"That was an interesting experience todmph mpph hnmmph," she tried to say as he turned around and stole a kiss before rotating the other rack of ribs.

"Scoundrel!"

"Ya likeded it!"

She grinned as she mouth-kissed the shell of his ear. "That was an interesting experience today. I wouldn't want to live like that, but it wasn't as bad as you made it out to be."

He shifted his weight in the sand, though she could tell that the feeling of her heartbeat traveling through her loose cotton halter top into his back was helping him to loosen up. "I just feel embarrassed when foreigners I care about see tha backwardness of my people," he sighed woth resignation while staring into the flames. She crooked her neck back to watch the way the light illuminated his sharp, exotic features. "And ya know that of all people, I value ya and ya opinion more than anythin' in this world."

"Of all outlanders, you're the last one I want to feel embarrassed on my account," she joked. "And honestly, I think you were a bit alarmist with all the warnings. All I had to do was eat crow and stay quiet. It probably would be the same in any male-dominated society if a woman of another faction were brought around."

He continued to stare at the fire, though she could tell the topic of his roots weighed heavy on his shoulders. "I just feel anxious. Trolls ain't any dumber than most other races, but we act dumber. A society can't progress when half its people - or slightly more than half - are basically told ta shut up and go fix dinner. Or when anybody that shows some studiousness is mocked as a wimp. Or when all new inventions are seen as tools of tha weak." As he adjusted one of the rib racks, she stretched her body further up along his back to rest her chin on his head as he often did with her.

"You know...those people were certainly rustic, but I noticed something," she hummed while matting his mohawk down so it would stop tickling her face. "Most jungle trolls I've seen...the women are a bit taller than the average man of my people, and the men can almost look tauren in the eye if they stop slouching. Which would make you slightly above average height."

"Yeah, my people're dimorphic, as they say," he said absentmindedly while focusing on the ribs.

"But at that troll den we just passed through, most of the men were as big as you but just thinner. They were much, much larger on average than I had expected. But they all had different colors for their manes and hides, so they couldn't have all been related to each other."

Having rested the ribs over the fire securely, her husband reclined back, wearing her like an overcoat without complaint. He sat cross legged and, from what she could tell, pondered how to answer her. "Whashyu saw there were river people," he hummed, and she had to fight to avoid swooning from the way his lungs rumbled through his back and into her body when he spoke.

Shaking her head and coming to her senses, she mulled it over in her head. "So for jungle trolls...river people are like the more feral ones, I take it?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that. For us, ya got villagers, urbanites and river people. Villagers are tha majority and they're like impoverished people everywhere, save most trolls prefer bein' poor if it means they don't hafta work hard." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and she could detect the inferiority complex bubbling in his mind. "They just do...ya know, villager stuff. Ya give me tha shoes ya made, I'll trade ya these baskets I weave, like that. Urbanites live in places like Zul'Gurub, or Zul'Aman in tha case of tha forest trolls, and some of them use money, like tradin' sea shells as money, but they still ain't that advanced. And tha Darkspear never had any cities of our own."

Cecilia licked the inside of her cheek as she listened, suddenly able to ignore the physical closeness they were sharing. In their time together, Khujand had never revealed such details about his people and although they individually had shorter life spans than hers, she knew their history was just as intricate. It was more fascinating than her husband seemed to realize.

"And these river people?" she inquired curiously.

"Ah, yeah. River people exist for jungle trolls, forest trolls, ice trolls, but not tha sand trolls. River people're all hunter gatherers. It's all they know. So they live next ta rivers cause they don't know how ta cast metal for tools, or how ta build latrines. A lotta them only know how ta makes clothes and weapons, and they only speak Low Common."

"Yes, I heard that!" she replied, her interest pushing her to interrupt. "Common is the language of humans and the international trade language, but some troll settlements also speak it as a first language."

"Cause we fell. Those people, back at tha den? Did ya understand them easily?"

"No," she said, shaking her head in disappointment. "I think I need to practice my Zandali more."

"Ya wrong," he replied. "Ya understand just fine. Ya had trouble with them cause they don't speak Zandali properly."

"Oh..." she exhaled. Her confidence in her linguistic abilities returned at the revelation. "So it's like...they speak in dialect and with poor grammar?"

"Yeah, just like that. We're a savage people, but tha river people are savages even by our standards."

"And their size?"

Khujand snorted a laugh through his long nose, and Cecilia imitated him involuntarily. "Urbanites tend ta draw their berserkers from river people for their size. If a child is born too small, river people usually..." His voice trailed off as though he wished he hadn't said it, but she pulled back from him and massaged the back of his neck lightly, humming at him to continue. "They sell them," he sighed shamefully.

"That sounds..."

"Awful? Demented? Despicable?"

"It sounds utilitarian," she answered thoughtfully. "Perhaps they see it as being a better chance at life for the weaker children among them anyway."

"Naw-"

"You shouldn't be so hard on your own people, honey. Your race in general seems to be in a difficult position wherever they live. People will do what they need to survive - and of all people, you don't need to apologize for that to me."

He grumbled but didn't protest, and she could tell by his relaxed posture that even if he wouldn't admit it, he felt reassured by her lack of judgmentalism toward his people's situation. As he leaned back into her, she could only marvel at the curiosity that was the man she married. His father had been of non tribal origins, and had been some sort of berserker...Khujand himself once said he had been specifically trained to be a berserker. Given the revelation back on the Southfury River about his own grandparents both having been river people, the fact that he was bigger than most other jungle trolls and even tauren - and the fact that he was average for the obviously less sophisticated trolls at the den they'd passed through - made a lot more sense.

But what didn't quite make sense was how he ended up going from training to be a big berserker descended from the river people he seemed to resent so much to becoming a Shadow Hunter, the lore keepers for a people whose lore he seemed embarrassed of. For the entirety of their relationship, her husband enjoyed talking about the present, about what was around them, about politics and the world...but not himself, and not his culture. Cecilia was struck by how much she knew about Khujand through his behavior and attitude, yet how little she knew about him in terms of his past before Warsong.

"This is honestly the most you've ever spoken about your people in the whole year and a half we've been together. You're supposed to be one of the lore keepers of your people. I wish you would tell me more."

"I don't have nothin' ta tell ya, Cici, come on," he mumbled with a snort. "Ya tha wisest person I know, and ya hypnatize me every second ya speak. My stories are nothin'."

She tutted her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I'm telling you that I wish you would tell me what you know. Don't insinuate that my words are empty."

Kissing his scalp near the base of his mohawk, she started to rock him side to side. "Tell me what the trolls say about your history."

"Meh," he said with a wave of his free hand. "What elves say about my people is probably more accurate-"

"Part of the story only. We're as biased as you are due to our arrogance. Now, come on. You're my window into the world of my people's primordial cousins. Tell me your side of the story."

He hesitated for a moment before she felt the muscles in his back loosen. Taking a deep breath, he went into story mode for once - which was normally her forte. "Look, tha differences between races are exaggerated in general and ya know that," he explained awkwardly as he searched for the right words. "We look different, but mentally individuals are formed by their environment and experience. I've met orc mages and a tauren warlock in my time. Any race is capable of almost anythin' if they put their minds to it, though tha most capable is a group with a mix of races and experiences - like our community back in Ratchet."

He paused again while rotating the ribs in the fire, and she briefly experienced deja vu as images of her parents kindling a flame with other Sundering refugees flashed across her memory. His voice brought her back to the present.

"Trolls did great things once. We smashed tha Aqir when they were at their strongest, in a way not even tha combined forces of tha entire world could at tha Gates of Ahn'qiraj with tha Silithids at a weak point. Tha Amani and Gurubashi developed tha wheel, organized religion, city plannin', division of labor and writin' at a time when tha tauren, earthen, pandaren, furbolgs and hozen were just travelin' in groups of ten or twenty, eatin' wild berries and trappin' rabbits for protein. Everythin' that tha modern world uses ta define tha difference between people of any race and animals was invented by trolls; everythin'. Not even one exception.

"There was no reason for us not ta rule tha world. No reason except ourselves. Cici, did ya ever participate in war efforts against a troll stronghold?"

"No, not personally. The war between my people and yours ended before I was born. I heard stories and saw paintings, though - step architecture carved from stone, more delicate structures bound with rope and sinew, tools from sharpened rocks and animal bone."

"Like what ya saw in tha den taday, right?"

She began staring into the fire as well, allowing old and new memories to wash over her. "Yes, a lot like that, along with pictures of Zul'Gurub I saw while working on the passenger ship."

His voice rumbled in his back, passing through to her chest and sending a pleasant tingle up her spine. It was almost hypnotic when combined with his ever-weakening accent when speaking her language. "That's tha point. When were tha Amani and Gurubashi Empires tha two superpowers on tha world stage?"

"From about sixteen thousand years ago until thirteen thousand, when our peoples fought their world war. I hadn't been born yet and Unelia would have been a child just at the end of it."

"So think about it, Cici. Us trolls developed until a certain point, and now we've been frozen in time for sixteen thousand years. What ya see in pictures of places like Zul'Aman is tha same exact stage of development. It's cause we got stubborn and felt that tha foreigners had nothin' ta offer. And tha greatest irony, tha _greatest_ irony, is that ya people - tha elves - aren't even really foreigners, especially back then. Tha Kaldorei were just another tribe of dark trolls, tha most savage and primitive of all of us. Tha Well of Eternity gave ya ten fingers and toes, ya tusks shrank inta fangs, but ya were still from us. Tha glow in ya eyes should have told us ya was on ta somethin', that we should have let ya be our leaders, not fought ya. We beat dirt paths, ya paved them with smooth stones and lined them with fences. We relied on tha strength of our bigger bodies, ya invented pulleys that let one of ya lift as much as two of us. We built pools ta collect rainwater, ya invented aqueducts ta transport it for miles at a time. We tied everythin' tagether with fibre bindin's, ya smelted iron and invented chains. Our religion was based on spirits and death, ya religion was based on nature and life.

"And durin' and after our worldwide war, we refused ta adopt any of these great things ya people invented cause they were from tha 'elfies' and must be weak. Except those puny weaklin's - ya people - smashed our empires ta bits. And we deserved it, just like we still do now. Look at my momma. She was a widow, left without her only son, and Lorthiras told me she supported herself here by weavin'. Except she didn't use a loom like ya told me ya and ya sister did in tha arcane era. She made that shit by hand, and it took her forever and she couldn't make enough ta live without roommates till she got old and died. Why? Cause trolls are supposed ta be strong and not use tools like elves do. Pure idiocy."

Though his broad shoulders remained loose, there was a strain in his voice toward the end as he mentioned the details of his mother's life for the first time. Cecilia had lost her own mother during the War of the Shifting Sands, and one millennium on, she never cried just as she didn't back then - her mother was considered a martyr and a heroine - but the sting was still there. She knew how Khujand must have felt, with his shorter lifespan, more emotional nature and higher sensitivity from the recent nature of his own mother's death, and didn't push the issue yet. Regardless, that he brought it up spontaneously was a step for them both; it was usually only she who spoke about the past.

She hugged him a bit tighter as he removed the ribs from the fire and laid them across a smooth rock he had found nearby. Leaning around to his side, she kissed him on the cheek once and fought the desire to continue kissing down his chin.

"I understand better than most of my people would admit," she whispered softly, taking care not to bring her lips too close to his ear. "The arrogance of your people brought them irrelevance. The arrogance of my people brought the entire planet into conflict with the Burning Legion."

Khujand raised an eyebrow and turning to face her in the sand, his confusion at her statement obvious but expected. She sat between his legs and rested against his chest, enjoying the heat of his body more than that of the fire.

"They say tha Highborn were responsible for that, with their irresponsible dabblin' with tha arcane and tamperin' with tha first Well of Eternity."

"Garbage," Cecilia responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Utter trash and lies from another arrogant people who refuse to admit fault. Perhaps those born during the Satyr War or Silithus - the majority of night elves alive today - can be fooled, but I lived during that time. A few people like Tyrande's husband knew that what our queen was doing was wrong, but most of us were all too happy to leave all the decision making to her and her class of magi, indulging far too much in art, music and wine. We had a feeling the warnings were right but few of us stood up to say anything, and that makes us just as responsible." She rested the side of her head against his cheek, trying to calm herself down by listening to the rhythmic humming he made in his throat when he was listening intently. "We both belong to races we seem to resent," she chuckled while pondering their situation.

"Races, and formerly factions." Briefly, he picked up the ribs to test the temperature but found them too hot to handle, and quickly put them back down.

It took Cecilia a moment before what he'd said registered. "Factions? That we resent? No, dear. I detest the Alliance. You might not be in the Horde, but you wouldn't be here with me now if it weren't for them. You'd still be on an island across the ocean."

"Don't mean I gotta like them. They helped us, so I don't say I wish we never joined them, but I don't want anythin' ta do with them now, kinda like ya and tha Alliance."

"No, it's still different. My people have nothing to be grateful to the Alliance for. They brought us nothing but material excess, alcoholism, flour and refined sugar. And even faster and more efficient environmental degradation than the orcs are capable of. I wish we never joined them at all."

"Yeah, but..." His voice trailed off, but she knew he couldn't quite reply to her rather blunt declaration; at least his people had the tangible benefit of having been saved from a sinking island. After testing the temperature of the ribs one more time, he continued speaking. "We have somethin' ta be grateful for, but it don't make up for losin' our identity."

"As members of a tribe?"

"Naw, as practitioners of voodoo. It's illegal in Horde territory."

"Ah...yes, I've heard about that."

"Legally, I'm not allowed ta even pass my knowledge on ta anybody. But why? All different kindsa trolls believe in voodoo. Why we gotta convert ta shamanism? For tha orcs and tauren? Then why can't they just accept us tha way we are, and not make us convert ta their religion?"

Watching the ribs as well, her mind struggled to focus through the hunger but his sentiment resonated in her Kaldorei heart. "Sounds like shamanism was forced on jungle trolls the way that industrialization and urbanization were forced on night elves."

"Good riddance ta both factions, then," he snorted. "Thank tha Horde very much for helpin' us out, but I don't want anythin' ta do with them anymore."

"Amen, to that and to rejection of the Alliance as well."

The two of them sniffed the air and noticed that the lion ribs had cooled down. Khujand took the poker skewering the first rack and fed her the first few bites, which she gobbled down without pretense. The meat of a carnivore was palatable to them both, her people still nearly as feral as his and downright savage by the standards of other subraces of elves. They ate in silence other than occasional giggles from them both as they took turns feeding each other. Even after they finished both racks, they stared into the fire for a long time. Camping brought both of them back to similar childhood memories nearly forgotten despite their age disparity.

He was the first to bring them back to the matter at hand.

"They seemed nervous when I mentioned Garot'jin," Khujand said in reference to the denizens of the nameless jungle pit from before. "He must have tha locals scared, but drugs aren't tolerated by tha Horde officially. If any of them knew more, they wouldn'ta told us, especially given how strange we'd look to them."

Gears were already turning in Cecilia's head as she dug through her experience as a guardian of Azeroth against all sorts of miscreants for so long. "If the authorities here disapprove of the narcotics he's pushing, then they won't simply look the other way. This close to the capitol, they would be wary of accepting bribes, but if they haven't quashed an operation like this in their home territory then it must be quite remote. They can't hide and they can't challenge Vol'jin directly; the only possibility left is that they're so far out of the way, and their operation is still so low key, that breaking them apart would hold less value than the effort to reach them."

Both wife and husband had become serious, falling quickly into master-apprentice mode. "Who in a relatively clean city like this," Khujand asked with a motion in the direction of Razor Hill, "could I ask without raisin' eyebrows?"

"Go the formal route; asking in back alleys or behind street corners could get you reported as a possible buyer or even a mule. Inn keepers, city guards, and so forth. We already know we have to move south from here; if we can even get a few slivers more of information, it isn't a total loss on the business front."

He removed his chin from the top of Cecilia's head and looked at her quizically. "Business front?"

"Mhmm. We still have the personal front."

Flipping the conversation on its head faster than he was ready for, she turned halfway in his lap and caught his gaze. Peering into him tenderly, she ran her fingers through his short beard once she realized he wouldn't shut down on her.

"Durotar is more dangerous for me than Ashenvale will be for you, as you admitted," she said in a low, soft voice. "I missed my chance to meet your mother despite her having still been alive after we settled down, and you missed your chance to tell her goodbye face-to-face. You may get to visit her grave here again one day, but I might not."

"Well, now, wait a minute girl," he stuttered with a defeated tone, growing nervous but not refusing the topic. "Tha factional conflict is dyin' down, and we were all talkin' with Sonja and Erikur about how in a few years it might be possible ta do business in each others' capitol cities even, and-"

"Please, Khujand." Cecilia wasn't being manipulative, but they were both aware of how the word would affect him given how infrequently either of them resorted to it. "They never even discovered all of my mother's body parts. The closure of a final visit to a mother's grave is an experience I will never get to have after having spent eleven thousand years by her side. I never met my mother-in-law, but her memory means as much to me as that of my own blood relatives. We're right here, just a few hundred yards away. Our lives are one, our souls as well. I need to experience this along with you."

He hugged her closer as she looked up at him, his eyes downcast and ears drooping, but his voice still clear. "Ya will. I promise ya will. I just haven't even taken tha time ta accept in my heart yet that I will never have tha chance ta apologize ta her, and tell her tha atrocities I committed were despite tha way she raised me, not cause of it. I…ya know...ya know."

She hugged him back as he panted, nodding as though to tell him that he didn't need to elaborate. "We will meet both of our respective mothers past the ever after, and whatever we needed to say in this life can be said then. For now…it will be temporary closure, and I will be there with you the entire way. Just focus on gleaning what info you can about Garot'jin, and then we'll have our time to say 'be seeyin ya."

They both snorted a laugh and supported each other as they crawled into the long but low tent. A few more words were shared quietly before they fell asleep in each others' arms.


	7. Let My Heart Go

The sun beat down in the main entrance to Razor Hill just an hour or so past noon. With most of Azeroth itself at a nearly unheard of period of peace, children were playing and families picnicking outside of the city walls. The guards - a rather eclectic mix of orc grunts, troll headhunters and tauren braves - were oddly relaxed as they joked with one another and even smiled at the ocassional visitor.

Though the orc and tauren at the main gate didn't notice, the troll guard scrutinized one of his own kind that was unfamiliar to all three guards, donning the armaments of someone respected but bearing the clipped tusks that marked a criminal.

"Hail, citizen," the slightly shorter, much skinnier Darkspear said in Orcish as he waved down Khujand in an obvious way so as to alert his two comrades. They acted natural but he could feel their eyes fixed on him.

"Just a free man lookin' ta greet a friend of a friend," Khujand offered as he sauntered through the city gate, trying his best to appear casual and unassuming in his demeanor.

The tauren - who had to look up to study the only slightly slouching visitor'a face as well - squinted his eyes and cautioned the troll guard with a motion of his hand as they let Khujand pass. There were now three sizeable inns at Razor Hill given the ever increasing trickle of people from the countryside to urban areas, but it was the newest one that interested him - one that tended to rent more comfortable rooms on a discounted but long term basis. 'Zork's Furnished Apartments' was the name his lawyer had given him, though the mascot Zork was apparently not a real person and the establishment was owned by a consortium from the Ghostlands in Lordaeron. Having married a high-ranking employee of a neutral goblin cartel, Khujand didn't find such arrangements strange.

Tucked between three clusters of shops stood the building some locals had directed him to. The inn was only three floors, and since it wasn't particularly wide there likely weren't many rooms. Given the low number of rooms and the low people traffic in the area area, Khujand guessed that it was the sort of place where everybody knew each other. Whether that would make them friendlier in general or suspicious of an outsider…well, having learned the limits of his atrophied social skills long ago, he no longer wasted time guessing how anyone other than other Darkspear (whom he still understood somewhat) or Kaldorei (whom he knew of from his wife and their best friend) would react to him.

Entering a rather non-descript reception hall, reading area and restaurant all rolled into one, he spotted a blood elf couple quietly arranging dishes and supplies on shelves behind what appeared to be both the reception desk and the bar. They didn't seem disturbed when he pulled two chairs in front of them to support his weight, and were even polite enough to speak cordially before he had even finished balancing himself in a way that wouldn't result in him either falling backward or crushing the chairs.

"We have a decent stock of beverages and some snacks," the female said in Orcish as she turned to face him, her eyes darting between the big blue patron and the cups she was stacking. "Rooms are rented for two-week intervals here, though currently you would need to split a room."

"Water," he answered in Common, causing the male to inspect him peripherally while continuing to focus on fastening bags of ingredients. "I'm just passin' through and wanted ta see a friend of a friend."

The female didn't skip a beat as she poured some fresh water into a cup behind the counter. Neither of them bore the haughtiness their people were often stereotyped for, and the odd fact that they both had hair the same shade of scarlet as Khujand's mane let him become just a bit too comfortable.

"Razor Hill has become quite a large place. Best of luck trying to locate whoever it is you're looking for." The redhead was about to turn away and busy herself behind the counter again before she paused for a little more advice. "The town hall has a registry if you need to look for an actual resident here."

"Actually, I kinda know where they were last seen."

From the corner of Khujand's eye, he could see the red headed man inspecting him out of the corner of his own eye. Since inns received all sorts of travelers, drifters and shady characters, he assumed that the two peach colored elves were experienced in fielding invasive questions and dealing with unsavory individuals. He couldn't fault them for their suspicion.

Remaining much calmer visually, the female Sindorei pretended to rearrange a few napkins on the counter. "And where would that be?" she asked, causing the male to tense up at what Khujand imagined he thought of as a can of worms being opened.

Loosening his shoulders to appear as non-threatening as possible, Khujand finally fessed up. "She was a tenant here, actually," he replied solemnly. "She passed on a while back."

The woman behind the counter immediately seemed to understand what Khujand was snooping around for. "Information about patrons is typically considered confidential," she stated in Common with a monotone voice but with an almost apologetic expression.

Without hesitating, Khujand murmured his mother's name and described her appearance to the Sindorei couple exactly. His tone was low and somber, and the female leaned in to listen a little more closely.

When he was done, both halves of the blood elf couple softened in their demeanor, and arcane runes burned into the male's wrist that Khujand hadn't even noticed before suddenly stopped glowing. That, however, the jungle troll most definitely _did_ notice. Sighing both in relief and a measure of sadness, the female started to open up a bit.

"Even I barely noticed the way she flicked her wrist whenever she closed a door...but now that you mention it, I remember." The woman blinked a few times and shook her head to refocus. "Yes, she was here. What do you want to know?"

Fighting off a wave of sadness since he didn't know these people, Khujand swallowed a bit of saliva and tried to speak clearly. "Everything about her."

The male made no secret that he was trying to examine Khujand's face behind the wooden mask he was wearing, and he gave the female a nod without turning to her. Checking the door to be sure they were alone, the female spoke in quiet tones as she told him of the fallen, abandoned woman's final years. Almost nine years prior, the widow's only child caused a minor scandal due to involvement with an unmarked jail at the Mor'shan Rampart. At the time, it had been a big enough deal for Orgrimmar to send signed apologies to the military brass in Stormwind as well as an open disassociation from all those involved. Sen'jin City (then just a village) had been split over the confession their elders had received from the awkwardly tall, generally good-natured youth they had all known as Garot'jin, with equal numbers believing, rejecting or simply not caring about the news. The embarrassment at her only surviving progeny too much to bear, the woman vanished and never set foot in the village again; the only trace she left was a signed document (oral agreements were the norm among trolls; written agreements were quite rare among trolls and were taken very seriously) bequething her small hut to the local elders to use or demolish as they saw fit.

Within a few months the scandal was merely referenced in taverns during political discussions, and a few years later it was entirely forgotten - as was the mother of the escaped torturer who had evaded justice. She spent the remaining near decade or so of her life living on the third floor, sharing a furnished apartment with two other seamstresses as they toiled in their living quarters-slash-workshop weaving rugs and mats by hand, occasionally emerging either to help carry their wares to the shop next door for distribution or to shop for food with one of her two roommates.

She paid her rent on time, was polite to everyone and during her very rare emergences from her proverbial cave, there were even rarer instances when the two elven innkeepers swore they had seen her smile. By all measures, she was just another introverted widow biding her time until her expected death from natural causes during sleep. Such a person was by no means rare on Azeroth.

Both the male and female elf had moved directly in front of the imposingly large, intimidatingly armed and armored jungle troll as his body trembled with his breathing, his suddenly fragile gaze boring into the bar surface. Neither of them knew the man, but appeared touched as he silently listened to the entire story, only thanking the female shyly once she finished. There was a long pause as all three tried their best to remember the quiet woman and it was some sort of miracle that nobody else had chosen to enter the establishment the whole time.

Running his hand through his mane, the big blue-skinned and blue-mooded man looked back up. "Tell me about her son."

The female grew wide eyed as she seemed at a loss for words, looking over to her similarly kind yet less easily perturbed partner. The male's fel green eyes neither hardened nor softened as he considered the question. Khujand peeked in slightly, sensing that the man suspected nothing other than a vendetta but was still hesitant.

"I just need ta know tha location of her grave and of her son," he asked with a non-aggressive tone of urgency that clashed with his fierce tribal garb. "Ya not gonna hafta deal with me again after that."

The male elf nodded to the female, who promptly shut the door while the two men stared at each other cautiously.

"One day south of here," the male said in his low, gravely voice. "Leave the main road after one day mounted travel; there is nothing marking the point where you turn, so you must be exact. A second day of travel northwest will take you through a mountain passage that also happens to be flooded. There is a lodge of your people there who try to eke out a living hunting in the marshes. The drug den is a quarter of a day from there. Those hunters…they have lost many good, young men to the promises of Garot'jin. He ships his stuff through a further trail northwest that leads almost to the Southfury Watershed. It's so far and the operation affects so few people that the authorities don't bother, but…"

The male cleared his throat as his partner sat beside him. "Sorry, my sinuses. Anyway, those young people working for him, they're hooked on his stuff. They aren't bad, but they've done horrible things under his direction. The hunters at that lodge might help you."

Khujand had already stood up when the elf couple were eyeing his weapons, and they seemed surprised when he pulled an antique brass dragon statue about half a foot long from his pack. The male elf immediately pushed it away, almost seeming offended by the gesture.

"We don't know what you plan on doing," the male explained with a sudden formality and distance - though not haughtiness - in his tone. "But if you put an end to the pain that poor woman's son has caused to so many families, that's payment far more valuable than information and drinking water."

The truth in the male's words caused the jungle troll to stop for a moment before stuffing the statue back in his pack and moving toward the door. "One way or another, Garot'jin will meet his end before tha next week starts."

Before he could leave, the female blood elf called out. "I'm Gliondra, by the way. This is Kelthius."

Looking back, he expected to see the male shocked or angry at the revelation of their names, but only found the same look of concern in both their faces. "Khujand," the jungle troll said on his way out while thumbing his chest. "Khujand is the one who will end Garot'jin." Ducking under the doorway, he stepped back out onto the street, unable to shake off the ominous feeling that whichever version of Khujand survived would be seeing the couple again.

Stopping at the post office, he took his time writing two copies of a detailed letter in Common explaining everything they had learned up to that point before sending the first copy to Lorthiras in Orgrimmar. Taking the second copy, he added some personal details before sending it on to Irien, along with an apology for not yet having found an address she could write to and a prayer in Darnassian that she be aided were Garot'jin to follow through on his threat to damage their house. Half an hour from having left the inn, and he was back to the outskirts of town to help Cecilia finish packing and prepare for a painful goodbye.

* * *

An aged, lonely, berobed orc sat on a wooden log as he leaned against his shack, taking a long sip from his waterskin. The shade was just long enough to shield him, his broom and his shovel from the afternoon sun as he slipped his shoes back on. He hadn't heard the two riders approach, but he heard the large man with skin the color of the sky as he descended and tied the reins of the two raptors to a post outside the wooden fence.

Rising out of politeness despite his fatigue, the old grave digger brushed off his faded burgundy robe as the visitor approached.

Few words were exchanged, though the understanding look on the grave digger's face quelled any need. Reluctantly, he accepted the brass dragon statue as payment for retreating to his cottage around the bend for an hour and sufficed himself with a light pat to the downcast visitor's shoulder. Pretending that he didn't notice the second long-eared rider with a sentinel's armor, he downed the rest of his waterskin as his creaky bed called out to him for an afternoon nap.

The man's uncovered scarlet mohawk stood out against the dark brick red soil around him, marking him obviously despite the two tones technically being similar. He stood motionless, staring at the rows of small gravestones as he waited for his companion to join him. Her nearly waist length ponytail flapped in the wind slightly, almost but not quite matching the sky blue hue of the man's skin. He hesitated, almost faltering as he appeared to have second thoughts about their plan. She linked her arm with his and reached down with her free hand to squeeze his, leaning up to console him as she pulled hom forward, promising they would always be together each step of the way.

There were dozens of small gravestones lining the rows of plots with flawless symmetry. The popular practice among orcs was an eschewal of elaborate graves - everyone would be judged in the next life by their actions, not their material wealth. The attitude spread widely amongst the diverse races of the Horde, especially where orcs predominated, and locating the grave took some time since most of them bore only simple scrawled names.

Maneuvering between plots and taking care not to disturb any, the night elf led her jungle troll to the place of his mother's grave. Aside from the name and date of death, there was nothing else to distinguish the grave from the others; all had lived their lives, made their choices and now, had moved on, every single one of them engulfed by the same ultimate exit from the world - though not all entirely happy with the lives they had left and the sins they had picked.

The two knelt in the sand next to the grave for the better part of the hour of solitude they had. Aside from the occasional light burst of wind and the rumble of Khujand's lungs, there was silence. Cecilia kept her hand in his, tracing lines on the inside of his meaty palm. There was so much she wanted to say, but knew must be reserved for later. As she stared at the grave, there were so many sensations of loss. She felt guilty for her own sadness at a time when she knew her much younger, less wise husband was torn up inside, but part of sharing a single life with one another meant experiencing the joy and the pain at the same time.

When Khujand finally spoke - there must have been a good half hour where neither of them so much as shifted or blinked - his voice was quiet and higher in pitch than usual, but not as weak as she had expected. Over the year and a half of their relationship, she had slowly observed him gain better control of his emotions as her once overly sensitive drama queen boyfriend transformed to a slightly manic, just-right level of sensitive husband.

He spoke of the way his mother looked so proud the day he joined a caravan headed to the northern Barrens for patrolling the Gold Road. Of the way she was so overjoyed on the day his daughter was born. Of the way she insisted - for the first and only time in his life - that he sit on his deceased father's chair at the head of the dinner table when he visited home with news of his promotion with the Warsong Outriders. And then he spoke of the exact moment when he signed a confession of his war crimes addressed to his mother as part of his identity swap deal to evade execution being the only time his hand ever experienced writer's cramp. Of how he imagined her life would have been as the stereotypical 'abandoned spinster' in male-dominated societies like his, and how someone as strong and proud as his mother would have dealt with such a fate in the twilight years of her life. Of how someone so extroverted and outgoing could have remained locked up in what was both sleeping and working space, emerging only to deliver rugs to the building on the left or buy lettuce from the building on the right. Of how, even with the development he felt within himself as a person, he still lacked the courage that day to speak directly to her two roommates about how she had lived.

But through his choked, uneven sobs, Cecilia still heard him finish his mourning by taking an entirely different direction. He spoke of how strong his mother had been when his father's condition finally caught up with the greying but physically active spearman. Of how she didn't shed a tear at the funeral, but merely accepted that what was meant to be had come to pass. Of how his mother taught him that if fate had decreed something, not the entirety of the universe and every dimension could change it; and if fate had decreed that something would not ever come to pass, then not the entirety of the universe and every dimension could make it happen. He spoke of how that sincere belief made her so much calmer than anyone else, even when the Darkspear were first driven from the mainland of the Eastern Kingdoms to the tropical island not far from the lands of the Bloodscalp, to when they were driven from even that to the Lost Isles across the ocean, to when their island sank and they sailed with the orcs before settling in the Echo Isles, to when Zalazane drove his people even from that onto mainland Kalimdor.

He spoke of his earliest memory, from a time when a child's mind shouldn't be able to retain knowledge of experience yet. But he spoke of it with such sincerity and vividness that Cecilia knew it was real. When he was two years old - already old enough to walk, but still wanting to be carried when tired - his mother held him up and hugged him close when waking him up from a nap. And when she did, he tucked his head in to the point where her neck met her shoulder, closed his eyes and nearly fell asleep again. And every time he met his mother after having left, whether it was when he took a brief leave after surviving the Battle of Mount Hyjal or simply on vacation from guarding trade caravans on the Gold Road, he tucked his head into the same spot when he hugged her despite the height disparity, and every time he nearly fell asleep again.

They waited again for another indiscernable amount of time. Cecilia brushed the sand away from the etching on the gravestone to read the poor Orcish handwriting and even poorer etchwork as she saw her now deceased mother-in-law's name for the first time.

"Sharimara," she repeated with a surprisingly accurate pronounciation. "It's beautiful. I want a daughter with that name."

Seeming to have calmed down, Khujand turned his head to the side, looking at his wife expectedly.

"Issinia. Issinia Swiftfoot. She was from the first generation of true night elves, of those that were neither dark trolls nor the transition phase when the Well of Eternity mutated my people into whatever is in between trolls and elves. She and uncle Elindir were the first to earn that surname for the family."

He smiled with both warmth and sadness, pulling her into a hug they both held on to. "We can have another named after ya mama, too."

"And you're no longer balking at the little army I want to raise?" she asked with an exahheratedly raised eyebrow.

"No, no. Five or six like ya were askin' for before. This is our new life now."

"Good, because most of my life is behind me and looking at graves is a reminder that I'm closer every da-"

"Cici! Stop doin' that!" He glared into her mischevious, almost tartish expression.

"Just trying to keep us focused on more grave matters," she answered half-joking and half-serious. "Come on, we still have a crazed drug dealer kidnapping young people and threatenung your two other kids. Once it's over, we'll be able to head on to my homeland and relax and reminisce."

The two giants stood and looked at the grave of Sharimara of the Darkspear one last time before they left. Mounting their raptors in silence, they both rode off to the south, remaining in view of the main road while they traversed the desolate yet eerily beautiful wastes.


	8. Target Practice

The largest of the scorpids leapt over two corpses of its hivesiblings, landing soundlessly despite its mass in the middle of a cloud of red dust. Its eight legs carried it surprisingly fast as it soared across the ground toward the big blue man waving a double-bladed stick at it.

"Use the slouch!" Cecilia ordered while squinting her eyes under the sun, falling easily into the trainer role. "Left shoulder forward! Cut into both pincers!"

Khujand flipped his fel glaive sideways and caught both open pincers on it, slicing the soft tissue which bound both blades of the scorpid's pincers together. Already keeping his left shoulder forward, he let go with his right hand once the arachnid had been stopped in its tracks and shot out to grab the stinger prevent it from either piercing his body or pulling away. He had fought his share of giant bugs, but practice makes perfect and he would never turn down coaching from someone with ten thousand years of combat experience.

"It's releasing its right pincer! Stab it with its own stinger!"

That instruction, he wasn't expecting, though he did yank the stinger down just in time to hook it clear through the right pincer grasping for his thigh. With one of its two weapons impaled by another and the third stuck on the blade of a glaive, the big bug was helpless aside from its short, pincer-like jaws.

"Spin!"

"Does that actually wor-"

"Shut up and spin!"

Releasing the scorpid's left pincer, Khujand spun three-hundred sixty degrees, holding the glaive closer to himself as the world rotated around him until he was faced by a crippled scorpid and a severed pincer. It chittered fiercely as it tried in vain to remove its stinger from its own pincer, but its adversary shoved it back roughly.

"Finish it! Respect the opponent's right to die swiftly and its ability to still stage a comebac-"

:: _CRACK_ ::

The top of the scorpid's carapace split as Khujand first dropped his glaive, and then both unhitched his bone club from the strap on his back and brought it down onto his target in one fluid movement. A few twitches from its various limbs later, and the final inhabitant of the hive was dead. He turned to the big armored elf standing off to the side as she surveyed the wrecked mounds and dozen dead scorpids all around them.

"You're still cocky even for someone whose ego is of a healthy medium size," Cecilia stated with her formal instructor's voice. "You aren't easily distracted but you aren't totally focused either. You seem to think your regeneration can handle injuries when a talented soldier isn't supposed to get hurt in the first place. You're learning to use finesse rather than brute force but you have a way to go. And, Khujand, seriously, don't you ever drop your weapon again. That's the part when the bad guy comes back to life and picks it up to ambush you."

The raptors, raised as mounts rather than war pets, had only handled one of the smaller scorpids and were picking at its carcass. With their hive broken apart and their eggs smashed, there would be no way for the bugs to infest land so close to the main road. Khujand had actually been surprised when his wife demanded they end the lives of animals that were a part of nature though despite his incredulity at the thought of a spinning attack actually being viable, he had gotten over the habit of questioning her command just as much as she had gotten over her irritability those rare instances when he did.

They took care cutting the remaining pincers and stingers off the carcasses - one never could be too certain. After dragging any evidence of the battle out of view of possible travelers, they took turns sipping from their waterskin as they discussed their next plan of action after having traveled south and then partially northwest for a full day.

"It's about midday now, yeah?" he asked while brushing the sand from boulder and beckoning for his wife to sit.

"Correct. Theoretically, we could leave now and arrive at the hunter's lodge this evening but from what you've described, they would likely react poorly if approached by strangers at night when already suffering problems from drug pushers abducting their young people." She sat and raced to brush off a space for him before he could do it himself. Once he lowered himself next to her, she shoved the waterskin to his lips before he could protest, cupping his chin with her hand as though he were a child.

He laughed and choked on the water, finally resisting when she tried patting him on the back. "Look, these people are likely more civilized since they got folks from more than one subtribe," he tried to explain with some consternation. "But if they're more in touch with tha world, especially other communities here in Horde home territory, they might be more…"

"Factional?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to wait outside while you enlist their help, don't you?"

He looked sheepish, but didn't look away. "I…I'm sorry. It's for ya own safety, and so we got better chances of gettin' their help."

Cecilia sighed while patting his arm. Taking the waterskin one more time, she drank a long sip before handing it back, though he only sealed it and strapped it to his back with his weapons. "I'm not offended by your protective instinct. I just think you're overreacting." She leaned her head back onto his shoulder. "It's cute, actually." She cupped his chin again and even tried to run her fingers through his beard before he twitched.

"Can't help how I was raised," he chuckled. "So what's tha plan?"

She sat up again and pointed northwest. "We can ride toward the lodge at night. It will be cooler outside and I'll be able to see better. They will likely be up before dawn so if we arrive around then, they may be less edgy. From there we can plan on how to reach the drug den, take out Garot'jin and help those hunters get their young people back."

He nodded, understanding the latter part of her plan. "Where we gonna sleep for now, then?"

"Over the horizon are some trees. There isn't much shade, but combined with the tent and we should be able to comfortably sleep off the heat of the day."

After a few minutes of packing bags and tying the largest scorpid carcass to the raptors' saddles, the couple made their way to their chosen spot of rest for the remainder of the day.  
Cecilia sat inside the tent in her shorts and undershirt, watching Khujand as he finished dousing the fire. He had not only kindled it by himself, but properly prepared and cooked the scorpid meat without assistance. Even after having spent the most consciously aware years of her long life among non-elves - and having married one - she was still amazed at how quickly they could gain skills her people would spent decades perfecting. At times, she almost felt as though elves handicapped themselves with their meticulousness.

She drifted back to the refugee ship her family had climbed on to in the immediate aftermath of the Sundering, crawling over the bodies of the drowned as they screamed for help. She could feel several other women pulling her on board - men were still the fighters back then, and it was the main reason for the lingering gender imbalance - but try as she might, she could not remember the faces of the people who pulled her on board. It was dark despite not being night, and there was no dry land to be seen despite her knowing that there had once been a large hill on that spot. Even at the time she hadn't been totally aware of what had been happening around her, falling in and out of bouts of traumatized weeping over the explosion that had ended the War of the Ancients but life as they knew it as well. Her father and sister were a few boats over, and she remembered her mother pulling her into a tight hug. She was already two thousand years old at that point, but the spoiled life of revelrie she and her sister had led had stunted her emotional growth and besides, even for psychologically mature people like her parents, the ripping apart of the world's central continent was beyond terrifying.

Raising her head, she could see a figure standing tall at the bow of the ship despite the wind and the rain. Lightning struck and the face of Maiev Shadowsong shone through, crestfallen but determined. She pulled her hand back to herself and there was light for all the occupants of the ship and those surrounding it to see the way. There was no dry land around them, but that light helped them understand that they had to sail on. The war was over and the one hundred thousand who survived could not allow the deaths of the one million mostly civilians to be in vain. She sat up with her mother, somehow knowing that life would go on.

Fire. The light was from a torch Lady Shadowsong had lit with fire.

"Did she know ya were lookin' at her?"

Cecilia blinked, looking at the smoldering twigs in front of her.

"Wh-what, dear?"

Khujand slid up to the mouth of the tent where she was sittinng and tucked her hair behind her long ears, which were now darkening at the tips. "Ya do realize ya were talkin' out loud tha whole time, right?"

"I, um…no. Honestly, no."

"Seriously?" he asked with an incredulous look.

"Yes. Seriously."

He slid inside the tent with her, escaping into the shade as they watched the raptors roll around in the sand. "I absolutely love it. I love every moment ya speak about what it was like. Our lives since tha Third War have been bizarrely similar, but ya life before that was so different from…anythin' or anyone else on Azeroth."

Cecilia cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around her knees. "You're the only one I never tired of telling stories to. Even Irien wears me out sometimes. But I've lived for so long, and mostly in a dream-like state of monotonous dronehood during the Vigil, that I can't recall real images and vivid experiences the way I can with information. It comes and goes."

Khujand removed his tank top and long shorts and folded them before shoving them in the corner. Wearing only his undershorts, he leaned back against the bedroll inside the tent, closing his eyes. "Ya need ta write this stuff down. I know ya humble, but ya gotta understand that ta those of us without tha long life span, ya personal story is incredible. Ya could be like ya buddy Ralo'shan."

An awkward smile was her initial reaction. "Oh, don't compare me to her...she's beyond my level," Cecilia replied sheepishly, though she did quite enjoy the flattery. Ralo'shan was an internationally acclaimed motivation speaker.

"Might as well compare ya ta someone ya look up ta, right? I can't imagine comparin' ya ta, say, that Gwynn lady or-" Realizing his gaffe at mentioning a name Cecilia really did _not_ want to hear, Khujand quicky clammed up. "Aw, shit, I'm sorry for bringin' her up. I was just tryin' ta think of a good analogy."

"It's...no, don't worry, it's okay," she replied only half dishonestly, biting back on millennia of acidic friendship with her former patrol partner from her ancestral village. "It's just a slip of the tongue...and Gwynneth is one person I'm not shy to say I feel is beneath me."

Awkward and contrite looking, Khujand reached up with one hand and laid it on her arm. His hand was so warm to the touch that her body began to tingle with conflict. The soothing nature of his touch clashed with the prickliness of his social gaffe and the bad blood it had drawn, and her thoughts became a little less cogent. She tried to focus on the sensation of his palm against her skin in order to shake off the negativity.

"Well, I'm still sorry. I really don't know why that example came ta my mind."

"Probably because it's apt," she sighed. "I can't think of two people more opposite in their nature's than Ralo'shan and Gwynneth. Or more opposite in my feelings about them, either. Ralo'shan is always so...open, and helpful, and not pushy at all. Gwynn...consumed me. Dominated me mentally. She was a best friend forever that just tried to clone her personality onto me." Cecilia paused, closing her eyes for a few seconds as she tried to shake off the memories. "Ah. Let's talk about something nice."

Nervous laughter rumbled in his throat, but Khujand wasted no time in changing the subject to something less bitter. "Anyway...Ralo'shan wrote tha story of her isolation in Silithus. Ya got so much history, like her but without a thousand years of livin' alone."

"I guess I do have a wide scope of life experience..."

"Exactly. And no matter how regular ya life seems ta ya, I can guarantee that it's not gonna seem that way ta tha world." He might have said something else, but the way he squeezed her arm and then let go through her off. It was like having a masseuse stop right before reaching the sorest spot. "Right, dear?"

Almost blurred vision focused on his face, and her brain struggled to balance hearing his words and pining for him to grant her his warmth again all the while trying to push the image of Gwynneth's sourpuss face out of her mind. "Huh?" Cecilia asked, lost in the conversation.

Defiant without being defiant, he continued laying next to her and keeping his hands to himself. "I was sayin' that maybe ya can try ta write ya stories down yaself before Irien does," he repeated, closing his eyes as if he was considering writing down stories of his own. "That way, ya could get started as soon as - Hey?"

He opened his eyes as Cecilia ran her palms over his collar bone and pushed him to the ground. Before he could even realize what was going on, she swung one leg over so she could sit stop his hips, garnering a yelp from him as she straddled him.

Her eyebrows arched down. "You're almost twice my weight! Don't exaggerate!"

Khujand remained pinned on the ground as he chuckled. "I know girl, but ya didn't give me any warnin'."

"Finish what you were saying," she chortled mischeviously.

"Like this?"

"I'm just getting comfortable. Continue."

Trying to stretch one more time, Khujand seemed that their extra large tent could still barely fit the two of them - she was about a head shorter than him but still one of the tallest of her kind. Cramped but cozy, they both finally began to relax after a hard day.

"So, yeah. Ya need ta write this stuff down, honestly. Hell, once we're headin' ta Ashenvale, start with that story ya were sayin' out loud about tha refugee ships. They ain't all gotta be in…hey, are ya list-"

He tried to sit up on his elbows, but Cecilia continued gripping his shoulders and leaned her weight down, pressing him into the bedroll again.

"Finish!" she practically snarled at him as she bore her fangs with a little smirk.

Khujand looked up at her, first appearing perplexed but then amused as he realized what was going on. He started talking again, though Cecilia was no longer paying attention as she cupped the muscles of his shoulders and felt for the definition between each one. Her husband lied motionless beneath her the whole time, observing what his oblivious wife was doing. At some point, he stopped talking altogether to watch as she reared up to pinch his collar bone. The suddenness of his voice when he spoke up again brought her back momentarily.

"I thought ya were all inta necks, girl?"

Catching his gaze, she halfway realized what she was doing and sat back. Brushing her loose hair back behind her ears again, she licked her lips in anticipation. When he only sat pinned beneath her, she growled low in the bottom of her throat and without thinking, crossed her arms in front of her and began removing the undershirt she was wearing.

It was tight, and caught partially on the laces of the leather bra she had chosen that day.

"Do ya…need any assistance the- hey!" chortled Khujand, once again caught off guard as she smothered his face and neck with her shirt. "What's gotten inta ya!"

Cecilia swatted his hands away when he attempted to pull at her undershirt, furiously rubbing the scent of her sandalwood perfume all over his face and neck. The more he struggled, the hotter the fire burned inside of her, and she dragged the play wrestling match out as long as she could. She watched the way the muscles in his chest moved when he waved his arms above his head, and felt the way his entire body would rise as he breathed. When Khujand finally managed to maneuver around her swatting hands to tug her undershirt off of him, she was already bending down to press her nose against the bottom of his jawline and inhale deeply.

"Whoa! Cici, don't start what ya can't finish!"

There was a drawn out pause before she finally pushed up off of him, hovering above to see both the nervousness and excitement on his face. Her normally faded eyes now looked like two molten silver ingots burning down onto her challenger. He gulped visibly, not knowing what to expect next from the wife who was usually the leader in all aspects of their life save the bedroom, where she was submissive.

Before he could defend himself, she had already looped her undershirt over his hands, and by the time he first squirmed she wrapped it around his wrists and tied her short sleeves together tightly to restrain him. Unintentionally, he bucked his hips up against her thighs.

" ** _Oh_**!" she shouted while grabbing ahold of his biceps to pin him down again. She snaked her feet under his kneepits and grapevined his legs with hers.

They were eye to eye now, both panting as they engaged in a silent staredown to see who would make the first move…

(And cut. That's all you get to see.)

* * *

It was at least an hour after dark before they finally stirred. Somehow, Cecilia had managed to slip in between Khujand's arms so he could hold her while they slept without untying his wrists. The raptors responded outside, grunting as the two lazy reptiles sat up and munched on more dead scorpid without even rising from the spots where they had rolled around and then passed out in the sand.

"Cici…can ya reach tha clock?" he mumbled.

"Hhhnnnnnnnrrr no."

"Come on girl, we gotta move if we wanna get ta tha lodge around dawn."

"Hhrrrrrmmm five-hundred times your age…"

"Come oooon!"

"Ffpppttt."

"Wha - ya five-hundred times my age and ya response is a rasberry?"

"Ffpppttt."

"Just untie my wrists, alright?"

"Hhrrrmm there now ffpppttt."

Throwing his undershorts back on, Khujand left his wife and trudged outside the tent, likely rousing the raptors and surveying the area for any potential passersby. Cecilia finally pulled the covers over herself, needing some sort of protection from the cool Durotar night in the absence of trollheat. She shut her eyes and did her best to drift off again despite her hunger and her knowledge that they would need to leave soon.

Still half-awake, she felt her husband sit down next to her and fiddle around with some dried fruit and the first of their three waterskins which they had been using so far. She rolled on her back to see him, peering up with narrowed eyes and the best spoiled princess look she could muster.

"Ya gonna choke if ya eat lyin' down," he chortled while feeding himself.

Sighing dramatically, she wrapped the covers around herself and sat up, leaning her head in one hand while eating and drinking with the other. Taking advantage of the fact that neither Irien nor any other friends were there, she chewed with her mouth open and her eyes closed, trying hard not to laugh along with her husband.

"That was the first time I've been the active partner in our entire year and a half together. Just give me some time to wake up slowly."

"I do that every day," he said as he ruffled her hair and kissed her cheek. "Sometimes twice on tha weekends, if we got tha energy. It's a good workout."

"Well, it's your workout, I don't like doing all the work. I'll save that for birthdays and Lunar Festival."

They finished eating and dressing while they chatted, gradually pulling the conversation to heavier topics in preparation for the grislier task at hand. Within fifteen minutes, they had packed up the tent and the camping gear and loaded the raptors.

"Khujand," Cecilia called out with a hand on his arm. He stopped what he was doing to devote his full attention to her at first, though when he saw that she was mounting her raptor he followed suit. "What was your father's name?"

He looked away sheepishly, but she wouldn't let go of his arm. "We never use names. We've shared many stories about our families, but we never ever use names. It feels weird now."

"Well, it won't feel weird anymore. And I do most of the sharing; you pull your shy act and swear your stories are boring."

"They are compared ta yours."

"You're wrong. You'll meet him soon, by the way - we at least have one living parent between the two of us."

The two spurred their mounts and rode on to the northwest, enjoying the contrast between the brick read earth, pitch black sky and gleaming stars above. They still had a ways to go before reaching the Darkspear hunter's lodge.

 **A/N: Sorry about the tent scene...that was actually unplanned and as I wrote it sort of just...happened? I almost kind of judged myself for having kept it in, but it felt natural and part of the story. And it's probably the raciest thing I will ever write. Very red in the face now.**


	9. Assistance Withheld

The two long-eared riders came to a stop on the top of the hill, scanning the mountain ranges to the west and south of their vantage point. The moon had already begun to set, and the orange glow of the sun could be seen over the horizon behind them. The sight was familiar to Khujand but a new type of beautiful for Cecilia. Having spent thousands of years patrolling a temperate, deciduous biome, lands with arid climates were quite foreign to her. Of course, she'd patrolled Durotar and Desolace previously, but those forays were minor compared to her habitual marches through the forest. Standing in west-central Durotar, however, was an experience she felt she would want to repeat one day if political tensions simmered down enough.

All around them, there was nothing but dry, cracked earth the same red hue as the bricks sometimes used for more recent construction products in the Eastern Kingdoms. The sand that had surrounded them on previous days was gone along with the cacti and gnarled acacia trees. Not even scorpids, ants or flies had been apparent for a few hours as the couple spent the better part of the night riding. They were truly in a wasteland now, similar to what the world might look like in the aftermath of an apocalypse.

Khujand lifted his head up to watch something on the road, and Cecilia sat mesmerized as something inside her mind clicked.

Since returning to Azeroth, they had gone camping with Irien on at least half their weekends in addition to hunting much of their own meat. Although his weight stayed nearly the same, he had become a bit leaner and looked slightly closer to the figure of someone who foraged for food. As he sat atop the dinosaur he preferred as a mount, she noticed that both rider and raptor bore the same decorative feathers secured around their arms and legs with leather strips. Both the wooden fetish pauldrons and the skulls he collected from enemies on Draenor to chain together as both a belt and protection for his waist spoke of something primal and superstitious. The warpstalker jawbone and animal horns he wore to protect his neck appeared, like his mount, to be from the stone age and the wooden mask, bone club and tribal body paint (though never face paint) exuded a primitive nature which belied the incredible intelligence shining in his eyes. Even when clipped to only four inches, his tusks were like exaggerated fangs and when combined with his slightly wild mohawk and beard, Cecilia experienced a brief flashback of when he had dragged her into her cage by the hair when they were fighting on opposite sides, segueing into a fantasy about them wearing tigerskin togas as he dragged her into a cave.

She giggled out loud at the though, and when he turned to see her the familiarity broke through: his long ears, almost like hers though a little more batlike, bounced with his head movement as hers did. Surrounding by an uncivilized badland that appeared untouched by technology or stone architecture, and she felt even more like the trolls were just primordial elves from the dawn of time.

"What's goshyu so giddy, girl?" he asked as her laughter began to infect him.

"I'm married to a cave man!"

She stared at him with such admiration that he couldn't help but blush, and she guessed he was feeling the butterflies in his stomach that he often spoke of in those private moments when neither of them - especially her - would act their age. Their tender moment was cut off by the sound of pawprints on the main road about a dozen yards to the left, and Cecilia had already dismounted by the time Khujand looked back to her.

"It's dark enough for me to shadowmeld. Take the reins of my raptor and I can stand behind it."

Nodding and taking the reins of both raptors in his hand, he squinted his eyes as he watched two riders on timberwolves approach and moved cautiously as he scrutinized the two riders. She slid off the saddle and blended into the gradually receding darkness between the two dinosaurs, her outline faintly visible in the empty air. From behind the raptors, Cecilia could see the two horned helmets signifying orc raiders.

"Shit," her husband whispered to her. "These are tha two original outriders for Durotar. They might recognize my name as that of a highway robber or even worse, from tha time I chatted with them at tha Valley of Trials."

"How long ago was that?"

"Nine years."

"You're being paranoid. If they're the two original outriders, they must meet droves of peo…oh they're stopping."

She could no longer see them, but heard the two riders come to a halt on the other side of the raptors as Khujand led them to the main road. The wolves didn't appear to be sniffing her out, and the riders wasted no time stating their business.

"Good morning, traveler," said one of them in Orcish. "Rider Jhash speaks to you; this is Rider Kerr. We hope you haven't lost your way this morning."

"No, I'm headed for a hamlet of hunter-gatherers along this road. I hear they're havin' some trouble with a group of outlaws in tha mountains."

Cecilia heard the two riders shift in their saddles. "They never put out any sort of quest reward," stated Kerr. "Few have been willing to travel to such a remote area just to handle some outlaws, but if you choose to do so, you would be helping all of Durotar. Are you absolutely certain you want to undertake such a task?"

She peeked up to see Khujand nod and tap the hilt of his glaive. "I had a personal score ta settle with their ringleader, and now I hear he lured some local young people ta join him. I'm not gonna leave till he's dead," he stated with a grave tone. Cecilia winced, feeling that he was revealing too much information to strangers, but there was very little she could do about that.

The conversation skipped a beat as the two outriders seemed to consider what the Shadow Hunter in front of them was claiming. "Alright, look," started Jhash. "Nobody ever makes a serious effort to tackle these guys, and the few who thought they could were inexperienced recruits trying to prove something. If you're serious, we can try to help. There's a band of other riders we're meeting around the bend in a few hours. We'll try to convince them to ride back with us. If you can convince some of those Darkspear hunters at the lodge to join and form a real raiding party, I mean one that actually has a chance, we'll go with you."

Cecilia smirked at the realization that the two riders didn't know who they were addressing (and possibly didn't know she was even there). Regardless, help was definitely welcome even if it wouldn't be entirely necessary. Kerr's next question snapped her out of her train of thought, however.

"We hope you and your friend there stay safe, mister…?"

Cecilia froze. She was a warrior or the night - retired, but still a being who walked in shadow. How had they detected her so easily? The tension passed quickly when she considered the passive tone of voice the man used. She didn't break her shadowmeld immediately, but she did breathe a little bit more easily.

Her husband snorted as he considered the question, and answered back with a serious, almost prideful tone.

"Tha name is Khujand, and my companion, Cecilia, is also my wife. She married a Darkspear, bears no ill will ta tha Horde and is here ta help rid our people of another leech on society." It was a candor that was totally absent when he dealt with his fellow jungle trolls, and it was refreshing enough that she finally broke her shadowmeld and walked into view to salute the two riders. Both of them were dressed like raiders, and Cecilia could tell that they were older and more experienced when neither they nor their wolves reacted negatively to the presence of a very large night elf.

The two orcs inspected the couple without saluting back, but appeared unaggressive as they parted ways. "It isn't our place to judge," Jhash said congenially but also very sincerely. "Just stay safe, avoid interactions with those of our people in government uniform and make good on your pledge to handle these miscreants."

Without a word more, the two riders continued southeast toward the rapidly rising sun. Cecilia mounted her raptor again and looked over to Khujand as he watched riders Jhash and Kerr disappear in the distance. Although the orcs couldn't hear any better than humans, Cecilia continued waiting until the wolves were out of earshot, lest the canines react to her voice and indicate to their riders that she was speaking. The irony struck her: there she'd been lecturing Khujand about being paranoid, and here she was worrying about two unofficial highwaymen hearing her speak.

"Do you think they will really help?"

He turned to face her while spurring his raptor ahead in the other direction. "I'm not sure, but I wouldn't count on it. Worse case scenario, we gotta go this with just tha two of us. It's nothin' we can't handle, right?"

She only smirked at him and shot ahead, racing the final stretch toward the spot where the lodge had been marked on their map.

* * *

Cecilia, Khujand and two raptors ducked down in a ditch as they watched the hunter families go about their morning business. There were four men and even one woman sharpening spears and arrowheads, and their leather trappings insinuated that the five would be the ones actually stalking prey that day. The marshes were in view from the ditch in the opposite direction, and tall cypress trees jutting up from the water provided enough cover for game animals to thive.

It was a curious spot. Aside from the central, open air longhouse which had both the facilities for packing meat and a gathering hall, the only permanent structures were six sleeping huts arranged in a half-circle formation in the back, an open air stable and a traveler's resting hut with post office information nailed to it. By all means and measures, their lives appeared demanding but likely much more fulfilling than those of city-dwellers.

"Alright, just stick with tha plan," Khujand explained quietly in Orcish should they be discovered - he'd insisted that such people likely wouldn't speak or understand the language well. "They're flyin' both a Darkspear emblem and a Horde flag. They might be patriots, but since their only contact with strangers is travelin' merchants buyin' meat for supplies, they're gonna be suspicious even of me."

"Do your best to convince them that we can get their young people back, but failing that, get as much information as possible," Cecilia whispered back while crouching at the bottom of the ditch. Her glaive was at her feet, unwielded but ready in case her husband's fellow jungle trolls became hostile. "The more we know going into this, the quicker we'll be able to just end it."

"Right. Okay...and Cici, these aren't river people."

Right away, she knew the implication of his comment without him needing to finish saying it out loud. "If they turn on you, I won't hesitate at all," she replied quietly.

"Here's ta hopin' that it doesn't come ta that," he said while standing and slinking out toward level ground.

Once he walked around the rising end of the ditch, he moved out of sight and on to the little hamlet, and the voices were too far away for her to make out any details.

There was a loud grunt at first, but that seemed to be a normal greeting among many trolls. Khujand addressed another male at first, then a few more in a back and forth conversation filled with grunts and pauses. As much as he'd insisted that her Zandali was adequate, a measure of disappointment did settle in when she couldn't decipher what they were all saying. Of course, her mind was a logical one: they were far from her, at a higher elevation, beyond physical obstructions and probably didn't enunciate their words well. Regardless, she threw her hands up in the air and stopped trying to eavesdrop after the first few incomprehensible sentences.

The conversation dragged on like that for a period before the voice of an obviously older female interjected and the rest went silent. Cecilia heard what she assumed was either an older female relative or very powerful witch doctor - women likely wouldn't be able to quiet all the men like that in such a patriarchal society unless they were quite distinguished as individuals.

The entire exchange was most inaudible and much more hushed once the female intervened, and when it died off about fifteen minutes later Cecilia eventually heard her husband's footsteps as he approached. Without looking over his shoulder, he climbed down into the ditch, unperturbed compared to how he'd been when they'd left the Southfury den but clearly disappointed himself. He crouched next to her, sighing in frustration as his eyes met hers.

"You tried," she sighed back with some consternation at the refusal of the hunters to participate in their own liberation.

What came next only increased her dismay.

"They started payin' tribute ta that asshole," Khujand grumbled resentfully as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"What!"

"It's a straight up, no bones about it shakedown. Tha Horde authorities stopped botherin' ta collect taxes out here more than a year ago, and no taxes meant no services or anythin'. Tha locals didn't complain since they don't like taxes but they gotta police themselves, so tha drug dealers moved in once they saw that there's no real authority out here. They don't sell drugs ta tha settlement but they need these people ta stay quiet. Tha people here are pissed, though. A dozen of their youth - a lot of their manual labor - were lured in and drugged inta bein' base slaves. That wasn't part of tha bargain that they cut with Groty, and judgin' by how there's only a dozen adults and half that many small children here, those dozen teenagers would be a sizeable portion of tha hamlet's population."

Cecilia faltered momentarily. "Wait, they fit thirty people originally in only six huts - no, I'm sorry, forget I said that," she spat quickly, resisting the urge to devolve the situation of mortal suffering into a mental math equation. "So why did they tell you so much if they're being blackmailed and threatened not to talk?"

Khujand stood up into a slouch and prodded the raptors to stand. "There's more. They're pissed at tha Horde and tha world in general. Apparently, three other groups of adventurers came sayin' they would clean house, and instead they fled when Groty's goons chased them out. None of tha groups even suffered any casualties; they just ran out like a buncha scaredy cats. I can tell that these people are hidin' more info, and they're convinced that I'm full of shit and that their lives will continue this way. They didn't state all that up front, it's what I picked up on."

Mounting again, the two moved back to the main road after following the ditch away from the troll hamlet. In the distance, even through the bright daylight, Cecilia was able to look back and spy the light sea-green mane of a tall female wearing the wooden skull mask of a witch doctor. For a split second, Cecilia thought the commanding woman had seen her as well, though at that distance her long ears and great height could help her pass for a troll woman riding alongside a very obviously troll man.

Several hours passed before they reached the mountain pass they were looking for. Whoever had given Khujand directions back at Razor Hill hadn't been exaggerating when they claimed that the mountain hideout was remote. Even beyond the nameless little troll hamlet, there was quite a bit of empty space where not even scorpids or hares could be seen. The red ridges of mountains rose all around them, corralling them along a high path that was devoid of any sort of landmarks.

Ascending somewhat steeply, the road seemed unnaturally smooth and cut into the mountain rocks to allow carts to traverse the way. The ground was flat if a little uneven, and outcroppings of rocks that had obviously once jutted into the path had been chipped away. It was almost as if someone had come with a team of laborers to clear out a lonely road and hadn't even bothered to hide the signs of civilized handiwork.

Cecilia and Khujand remained silent as they walked, she sending directions to him via subtle hand signals that would only be understood by sentinels - another form of insurance for his safety when they reached Ashenvale. If they reached Ashenvale. No words were spoken. Even if she couldn't detect any scents or sounds directly, she knew a trap when she saw one - she'd seen literally thousands before. In this case, they were walking into a natural trap as they searched for the drug den: the choice of the location was very well planned. There was nobody to seek assistance from, and no place to hide or secure. The trickle of a river could be heard just over the northern ridges, but aside from that, there were only two obvious routes of escape or progress: forward or backward. And forward they marched; this was not a situation where retreat or negotiation would be an option. Cecilia sighed mentally as she realized that after having retired from adventuring, there danger was, finding the, again.

The road was cut a bit deeper as they continued to ride, and the sheer cliffs on the side became just too high for them to see over even when mounted. Several alcoves were cut into the rock and they began to notice scraps of cloth and paper waste lying around. There had obviusly been people here, and recently. Khujand noticed it too, and his hand signals became more frequent as they observed what appeared to be the rubbish left by a group of travelers.

Even the raptors quieted down, and though neither pair of long ears picked up any sounds, Cecilia still pulled out her glaive and Khujand followed suit. There was a break in the cliff face to the right, and she stopped to look down at the small yet powerful river flowing just ten yards below.

She turned back to look at her husband, and they both knew it was time to stop moving for a while. The area was quiet. Too quiet.

Pieces of gravel crunched together as a foot belonging to neither of their raptors slipped. Four pairs of eyes searched for the sound, only for it to be followed by the crunch of hooves.


	10. Ambush

Cecilia and Khujand held the reins of their raptors and forced the reptiles to stand side by side, all four pairs of eyes staring ahead up the mountain pass. Their glaives were out to signal that they had heard the feet and hooves scraping against the gravel, but they both stood nonchalantly to give the appearance of being unprepared. If whoever was following the towering couple thought they were the ones with the element of surprise, then letting them think that would ensure they would be all the more shocked.

The position of the sun above indicated that it was not even noon yet. The air was still and the heat uncomfortable, though the light was not a huge issue for Cecilia as long as she squinted her eyes. Khujand leaned toward her to pretend he was saying something. It was an old trick in the tactical book, but a bunch of hired thugs and enslaved junkies weren't likely to know it.

Minutes passed. A slight breeze blew, granting false promises of a sound barrier to approaching footsteps. Many a newbie would be fooled by such a sound, believing that the movement of air would somehow conceal their approach. They were wrong, which worked out just fine for the couple.

"Harrr!"

"Centaur!" Cecilia murmured as she finished snapping on her heavy tower shield with old school elven design and new school arm latch in record time. There was nary a second to do any more, as their assailants emerged from behind a rocky outcropping and charged before they even had time to dismount.

She remained mounted as she cut down the first charging horse-man, comfortable since most of her sentinel experience having been as cavalry. Raptors moved differently than nightsabres, but also being native to Kalimdor, they had been included in her centuries of training. Which would be necessary, as further attackers swarmed them from all sides. Various races and even factions rushed them on foot, pouring out of crevices and even running straight at them from a distance like a bunch of suicidal idiots.

Khujand lept down beside her and brought the double blades of his fel glaive onto the heads of two orcish attackers before even hitting the ground; he was still infantry at heart, preferring to let his raptor rip and tear as it pleased while he used his own melee and magic. From the corner of Cecilia's eye, she saw that the two dead orcs were unarmored and babbling incomprehensibly as their bloodshot eyes closed.

The situation swiftly boiled down into chaos as Garot'jin's entire motley crew of drugged or bribed flunkies flew at the two fighters with no real sense of organization. Orcs, goblins, a few humans and a tauren all rushed at them, swinging in a fury of crude axes and makeshift clubs but unable to approach the circle formed by wife and husband as they rotated and slashed while back to back. Bodies fell left and right and formed piles that hampered the other attackers, but the sheer numbers were overwhelming as they tried to back the couple into a corner against the cliff face. The thugs almost behaved as if they cared little for their own lives, using themselves as a living vice to crush Cecilia and Khujand against the rock wall.

A phalanx of six centaur brayed from up the mountain path, though most of the several dozen goons that had been unsuccessfully trying to corner the couple failed to tale heed. All six horse-men charged, forcibly shoving a path as they looked ready to steamroll everything in their path. Though the centaur were short compared to both wife and husband, they were all as heavy as Khujand, and together they formed a tidal wave of stinky, flea-ridden flesh. Trampling their comrades under their hooves, the crazed centaur charged without any sense of finesse or defensive action.

"Cici, cover me!" Khujand shouted. "I can take them all down at once!"

Without much choice left - the centaur wore heavy armor on their front - Cecilia taunted most of the scrabbling, wild-eyed goons to follow her in a hexagon as she slashed at her sides and her raptor slashed out in front, forming a bloody trail that was precarious for both herself and the mob she was tanking. Like a glob of goo splitting off from a puddle, a large number of the drugged and bribed attackers broke off and followed her, all of their attention focused on the wooping Amazon that was even cutting down their projectiles in midair before they reached her. She was physically separated from her husband, on the other side of the mountain path, but they both had more space to maneuver.

Khujand's eyes glowed even brighter and even some of the mobs following Cecilia stopped to look as strange whispers could be heard from no set physical point. White smoke materialized around the six charging centaur, swirling around them in the shape of skulls, ribcages and picking hands until they were enveloped entirely. The foul presence of voodoo tore the fabric of the air, and the sounds of bones snapping, sinew tearing and centaur being strangled by their own skin gave the non-drugged individuals among their attackers pause. A red beam of light came down into the unholy cloud, hitting the centaur with a hex spell altered to strike multiple targets at the same time. The Shadow Hunter's entire body flashed with a netherworldly red light until it burnt out, leaving him standing in a combat stance once the creepy whispers faded away. The smoke cleared around what had once been six centaurs, revealing six thin cobras in their place.

"Snaaaaaaake!" cried out a tauren thug, who appeared to be the most sober of the group though certainly not the brightest. Immediately his hooves came down, giving a second shock to the snakes beyond the first, which was that they had been turned into snakes in the first place. The serpents reacted in kind, likely confused as all hell as to what had befallen them and choosing fight over flight per their nature.

Following the panicked tauren's lead, several orcs and the humans scattered around began stomping on the cobras, half a dozen of them being bitten in the process. The mob of goons Cecilia had tanked looked dumbstruck as they witnessed the bizarre scene. Exploiting a prime opportunity, she turned and charged, leading many of them to be trampled by her raptor and those who weren't to be decapitated in a row when she flung her returning moon glaive. Her confidence surged as the tide of the numerically uneven battle turned in their favor, almost punctuated by the wild chops the snakebitten thugs swung at their own allies in their drug and venom induced stupor. The cobras had been stomped and horsewhipped to death, and one of them had even partially transformed back into a centaur as it was diced into four pieces, leaving a deformed mess of gore strewn across the mountain pass.

The entire skirmish had almost been too easy, as though the flunkies had been thrown at them like a meat shield. It was only then that Cecilia realized something was awry. Old experience took over, and she let herself almost dance as she cut, sliced and dodged, trying to fall into a pattern that her mentally deficient opponents would be too slow to predict. Her eyes scanned the crowd attacking them, searching for what the real intent of the assault could be. Another centaur tried to trample Khujand, but he grabbed it between the front legs (an area that didn't technically count as the centaur's groin but still looked weird) and used its own momentum to lift it up, keeping its front legs off of the ground as it tried to cut him down with a rusty, top heavy iron blade. It was then, beneath the arc formed by their two bodies, that she was able to spy a slouching figure preparing a blowgun on a ledge above.

"Darkspear!" she cried out to her husband while pointing. Khujand was preoccupied as he lifted the centaur trying to trample him with one hand and reared back with his glaive in the other.

:: _WHIZZ_ ::

The first feathered object had already gone flying and hit the centaur in the arm. Before Khujand could even land the killing blow, the mongrel released a death groan and fell limp, frothing at the mouth. He dumped the carcass to the side while examining the arm.

"Blowgun sniper!" he called back to his wife.

A second dart whizzed by his head while a third caught an orc goon, killing it instantly. Panic ensued as the sober goons began shouting at a second gaunt figure that rose and perched on the ledge.

Suddenly, it clicked and Cecilia realized what was wrong. They were in an area of Durotar that was predominantly troll, yet their attackers were composed of orcs, tauren, centaur and even a few ragged-looking humans. She should have realized it earlier-

"Now you die!" screamed one of the humans as it threw a hatchet straight at Cecilia's head.

Angling her tower shield just right, she reflected the hatchet upward at the ledge, sending it into the leg of the skinnier of the two jungle trolls.

"Gah!" the youngish looking Darkspear yelped as he tumbled down to the mountain pass below. His comrade noticed, and a second blowgun was aimed at the night elf within a microsecond. Cecilia's lightning reflexes just barely saved her as she heard the sound of more of the seemingly endless supply of poisoned darts rain against her shield.

The skinny Darkspear rolled into a group of orcs like a bowling ball, knocking a few of the sober ones into the drugged ones. The sensation of so many of the attackers either falling dead or falling into each other finally ignited a very unstable reaction in the assailants that were visibly under the effects of narcotics. In their frenzy, the druggies turned on their allies and pandemonium broke loose. There somehow seemed to be additional thugs that had entered the fray, though the free-for-all actually proved to be an even bigger handicap since nobody could easily move around and tempers began to flare.

Simultaneously, the two raptors went down. The loose one hit the ground with a thud as it was tackled by ten men, its snout muzzled and legs shackled before it could react. Images of cages and slave labor flashed through her mind, and the thoughts of precisely why Garot'jin wanted prisoners entered her mind. With a panicked chirp, Cecilia and her raptor both went down as two lassoes caught her mount by the neck and a third stole away her shield.

"Aaah!" she grunted as she landed leg-first on the corpse of the previously panicked tauren, who appeared to have died from a snakebite.

A furious roar was heard behind her and she turned in time to see her husband berserker-charge into the melee with his club. He appeared to be pushing through the crowd toward the ledge, and it was only when the orc next to him fell from a poisoned dart that she saw two more sticking in Khujand's neck.

Her heart skipped a beat as she stifled a scream, ripping her leg out of the struggling raptor's stirrups as she tried to fight her way to her husband. Without her shield she could spin more easily, and she sliced clean through the heads of three more thugs just in time to hear the whizzing sound again. A dart bounced ineffectively off of her thorium chestplate at the same time that three more skillfully pierced Khujand's chest cavity. The poison coursing through his veins only seemed to enrage him even more as he knocked five thugs back and ran toward the ledge.

"Wait!" she ordered him in vain. "Wait for me!"

The split second of distraction was just enough for a steel mace to connect with her right arm. It failed to damage her armor but rattled her bracer enough to knock her moon glaive loose, and one of the druggees sacrificed his own fingers to pry it away. Her fists and feet flew as she utilized the tactics every sentinel learned as a last resort, boxing and kicking a circle of assailants away. The corpses around them had piled up to the point of becoming a battlefield hazard, with still-living fighters tripping over them and curling up to avoid being stepped on. It was madness, interrupted only by a strong, three-fingered hand grabbing her by the ponytail.

"This be tha end - oomph!" cried out the skinny Darkspear as Cecilia grabbed his necklace fetish for a solid grip to hold on to and then kicked the hatchet that was still embedded in his shin. Bleeding and cussing, he stumbled back and fell to one knee before pulling the weapon out of his gushing wound. He rose again, wielding the hatchet but providing an opportunity wherein Cecilia leapt and dragon kicked him into another group of thugs.

Rolling around to face the young man again, she faltered, mesmerized by memory as she was faced with a sea-green mane spiked up on his head. She only had a milisecond to connect the style of the fetish and the design of the witch doctor's wood mask before she realized she had been backed against the northern break in the cliff face.

"You!" she shouted at the young Darkspear as three sober goons shoved her off the cliff, sending her hard into the steep, stony escarpment as she rolled over several times.

Her teeth clacked and her skull rattled; even for one as experienced as her, being shoved backward over a cliff and landing on a slope the angle of which she didn't know was a painful surprise. Tumbling and wrapping her arms around her head for safety, she curled up and rolled rather than risked injuring herself further by resisting, and then crashed into the strongly flowing water of the river below. Even with the world tumbling around her, she had spied her husband cracking the second sniper's skull open with his bone club as he finally fell, succumbing to twelve of the darts containing a concoction that had felled a centaur with a single shot to the arm.

Cecilia hit the surface of the water hard, and were it not for her heavy armor she would have died instantly on the rocks. Water rushed into her nostrils and her left ear, disorienting her almost as much as the underwater stone that banged against her helmet and caused its latches to dig into her skin. She realized that she was upside down and struggled to pull her self upright as the current dragged her along. Her armor was heavy but she was excessively tall, and at one point managed to grab the riverbank to pull her head above water.

Her rationality took over quickly. Khujand had been through much worse than that. His regeneration was hyperactive even by troll standards, and that the sniper continued firing darts even when it failed to kill him meant that they were trying to restrain him. Even with the force of another large rock banging against her armor, Cecilia tuned out her own immediate plight and understood the bigger picture: Garot'jin had been expecting them. He would have known that his threat against her husband's biological children couldn't go unanswered, and had likely told the sober thugs to be on the lookout. For all they knew, they could have been spotted and ratted out the moment they left for Durotar that week.

But she had hope...she could fix this. Her husband could persevere, and she could save him. Garot'jin wanted to meet Khujand face-to-face, and although his thugs had also captured both raptors, the mounts wouldn't go to the drug den without being forced. With so many of their men killed - including all the largest ones - hauling two unruly reptiles and a massive unconscious jungle troll would take time. And she'd need time.

Cecilia stoppes fighting the current and let it pull her against the hills rolling to the southeast, merely keeping her head above water. Based on maps and information they'd received from locals, it would take at least half a day for the caravan of thugs to reach the drug den. The river was soaking the leather padding inside her armor, but time was off the essence, not comfort. The more detailed, local maps Khujand had brought to their tent showed a little pond at the end of a river running through the mountains in this part of Durotar. Delving into her vast experience with navigation, river sailing and travel time, she guessed that she could ride the current to the pond it ended at within two hours, then hike one hour south and return to the hunter's lodge.

Their money was in the saddlebags of the raptors, her weapons were gone and she would need to get out of that armor. The other jungle trolls at the lodge were their only hope. Leaving Khujand to languish in the drug den was a strategic retreat she was forced to make. And come hell or high water, forcibly enlisting the help of the small hamlet robbed of its young people would have to be her strategic strike back.

* * *

Khujand laid paralyzed as they drew the net over him, and it took three orcs to flip is body over so that he could be wrapped entirely. His muscles were stiff and his vision blurry, but he could still hear despite his drug-hazed mind.

"Forty-three…that was all the laborers we have," grumbled one sober orc. "I'm almost afraid to go back…the entire operation has lost its labor for the sake of some mounts, some loot and one man."

"That was our job," answered a human voice in Orcish. "The boss wanted this guy no matter what the cost, we got him. As long as we have enough people left to intercept that lady when she comes with the two children, things should be fine."

Two thugs viciously beat the muzzled raptors with sticks to prod them forward, and another five dragged Khujand's bulk with ropes tied to the net. Nine. Fifty-two people had been sent, only nine survived. Despite his miserable situation and concern for his wife, a wry smile broke out across his lips.

The sound of his body being dragged on the rocky mountain path was soothing in a way. He drifted off into a deep, narcotic-induced sleep.


	11. My Old Friend

She watched as he scaled the palm tree, his hands and feet slipping occasionally. "Be careful! You're going to fall down!"

The long fronds rustled as several monkeys were scared from their hiding spots by the climbing child. The tree curved at the top, allowing him to sit down on it and scoot forward on his butt. The melons were knocked slightly loose.

"Oh! Oh! Don't let it fall!" she cried. Her bright orange hair was a mess, yet still as radiant as the setting sun when he looked down at her. Neither of them had a crush on the other, but there was something about having a girl as a best friend that felt even nicer than when he was hanging out with the other boys.

Just then, he slipped momentarily, eliciting a yip from them both.

"I'm ok!"

"No, that's enough! Just come down for now!"

"I'm ok!"

Regaining his balance, he scooted up to the top of the angled palm tree and secured his footing. Leaning far forward, he was able to pluck off one of the melons. Its weight dragged his arm down and she gasped again, only for him to tuck it safely underneath one arm. Scooting backward, he slid down the rest of the trunk at a snail's pace, cradling the melon under his arm. Once back with his feet in the sand, she rushed over to him to carry the fruit.

"You almost fell!"

"Well," he answered, "we only need to do this one time, right?"

He brushed his scarlet locks out of his face as he started to look for their new spot. She led the way, having picked it out. The two children walked, chatting inanely about which adults in the village smelled the worst. Although she was two years older, he was still able to look her in the eye being the awkwardly tall youth he was, and was able to dodge her attempts to flick his long ear as they made their way to the large, flat rock protected from the elements by an earthy ridge.

Within a few minutes, they had found the place they had earlier staked out by following their own literal breadcrumbs. He set the melon down and they had to spend a minute or so balancing it such that it wouldn't roll off the rock. Once that task was done, they sat down and picked up some pieces of flint.

"Yours are always sharper," she whined as she furiously tried to sharpen her piece of flint against a rock.

He looked to her sympathetically, seeming to understand her frustration. "Here, do it like this."

"I already am!"

"No, no. Feel the weakness in the flint, and then press down into it with the densest part of your rock." He tried cupping his hand over her eyes, only for her to lean back and shoot him an envious look. "You don't need to see it, a blind person could do a good job. You need to feel it. Close your eyes."

"That's stupid."

"It's not! Close your eyes."

Sighing in defeat, she closed her eyes and began thumbing her piece of flint. Her face contorted deep in concentration, her thumbnail clicked against a small ridge on her piece of flint, and underneath her eyelids her eyes seemed to grow wide. Reaching for her rock, she began pressing. It was light at first, but once she was sure of the weak point, she was able to press harder and angle her rock until an entire sheet of the flint chipped off.

Her triumph was evident despite her closed eyes. It made her reaction all the funnier when he reached out and flicked her ear.

"Hey!" she shouted as she slapped his shoulder with an indignant look. "I'm trying to concentr-"

"You did a good job!"

"Wh…I did?"

"Yeah, look at it," he said as he took her new flint knifeblade from her hand. "You removed the right amount to form a fine angle. I think it might be sharper than mine."

She looked from her blade to him and back again as her little cheeks flushed, though she seemed unaware. "Do you really think it's that good?" she asked with a measure of uncertainty. "Like, it could slice through the melon?"

"Only one way to find out," he beamed as he dropped his own blade in the sand and held the large fruit in his lap. "Don't cut my hands, yeah?"

Her eyes grew wide, ironically punctuated by the bigheaded gecko that slipped from a branch while gawking at the melon. "Your hands?" she stuttered nervously. "Maybe you should do it!" Gripping her blade between her thumb and finger, she tried to pass it to him like it was a rotten banana peel.

He laughed as he took her blade and handed her the melon, gripping it several different ways before he decided on the safest place to use as a hilt. Before he could even glance back, she was already airing her second thoughts.

"Wait! Maybe you should hold the melon."

"What?" he snickered as he almost fell backward.

"Don't laugh!" she pleaded. "I don't want you to cut my hands!"

"I would never hurt you or your hands," he said with a sincere look once his laughing fit had passed. "I promise." He tried to pinch her nose but missed as she saw him coming and leaned back.

"I'm ready I'm ready I'm ready I'm ready NO WAIT I'M NOT READY-"

"There we are!"

He slashed a short cut into the top of the melon before she even had time to react. None of the contents spilled out, but it was large enough to reach the pungent, acidic juice they were after. The two of them had already rose to see the big flat rock before they spoke again.

"Okay now you hold the melon!" she commanded with a sudden confidence that had been absent before.

Laughing as he took it, he ignored her punch to his arm and tilted the fruit at an angle that would allow her to catch the juice on her fingers without losing too much to the ground. Working her magic, she began running her fingers across the stone, the two of them fighting to ignore the awful stench of the juice so strong that it could permanently stain solid rock.

After a few minutes, she stood back to allow them both a better view of her handiwork. For the first time, a wave of awkwardness passed over them as neither child quite knew what to say despite having planned their fruit juice graffiti since they had discoveted the unnaturally smooth stone.

He broke the silence first, though she busted right through the awkwardness.

"So how will you wash your finge - grow up!" His question was cut off as she pretended to look at a coconut while wiping the smelly juice on his back.

She soared down the beach, not even looking back to see if he was following as she tried to make it to the salty water first. Stumbling over some driftwood, he made it to the shoreline in time to fling seaweed at her, igniting a war that would likely rage for minutes and minutes.

Overlooking the ocean on Darkspear Isle, an unnaturally smooth stone sat underneath an earthy awning, protected from the elements. An old stain the same shade of orange as her hair remained long after the tribe had left, a reminder to no one of something that was once so pure and innocent ripped to shreds by the hand of fate in one of its less sympathetic moments.

THAWA & GROTY

BEST FRIENDS FOREVER

* * *

The cave stank of sulphur and deadly nightshade. Darkness was not usually a problem for his eyes, but whatever they had shot him with caused a haze to cloud over his vision. Khujand was entirely lucid and aware of what had happened up until he lost consciousness on the mountain trail. He could recall the conversations the thugs had engaged in while dragging his chemically paralyzed body in a net and the screeching of the raptors as they were prodded forth. And though he had never been to this place before, he was sure of his location.

As he had suspected once the first of the twelve darts pierced his hide, the mob of thugs had intended to take him prisoner rather than kill him. He could still remember the look in Cecilia's eyes as they shoved her off that cliff. It was a helpless look he would hate to see in such an experienced, capable warrior even if she wasn't also married to him. He knew that she had been through far worse skirmishes than that - she had even survived the single battlefield loss her sentinel regiment suffered during the thousands and thousands of years of the Long Vigil - and her armor would certainly have protected her body as she tumbled to the river below. And once she resurfaced, she would begin to formulate a logical escape plan - he knew she would.

There was surprisingly little fear for her or his safety; they were both accomplished fighters who had seen situations even more dire. The fear he was experiencing, though, was far more nerve-racking.

The holding area he was restrained in could almost be described as open air. It had clearly been cut into the rock by sentient if unprofessional hands, and in addition to the high 'doorway,' there was also a large 'window' carved into the cave mouth next to it that would have been large enough for him to squeeze through had it not been covered with sheets of plywood. Light shone through the cracks in the wooden doorway, and the mountain path could be seen outside; there were in just one alcove of what was likely a mostly open-air base.

His armor was stripped but his loincloth, shoes and gloves had been left, and aside from the poison in his veins supressing his senses, strength and mana, he was unharmed. Normally, he could tear right out of the thorium chain linking him to the wall - although it would be difficult, he had managed to pull apart thorium chains before - but the drugs had sapped his vigor.

Well, the drugs. And the last comment the thugs had said about a woman expected at the drug lab with two children.

"Mommy, the man is still alive," a little boy whispered in Zandali before being shushed.

A familiar voice - painfully familiar - reassured the boy who was unfamiliar yet also familiar. "He's chained, don't worry," Zulwatha said nervously. The sound of her voice hit the dazed Shadow Hunter like a freight train of emotion, causing him to reel as he realized that, after more than a decade, he was really hearing her voice.

Trying to avoid scaring them, Khujand merely looked at the three figures slumped against the wall from his peripheral vision. They were silent again as they huddled together, and after a minute or so his vision began to clear enough for him to realize that they weren't even restrained like he was. One minute more and he could tell the reason why: they were literally quaking with fear, too scared to attempt an escape.

His conflicting emotions mixed with his fear as his vision gradually cleared up as much as his sense of smell had. Was it his fault? Had his choices a decade ago doomed them to end up there? Was it solely Garot'jin's doing, with Khujand's choices being a separate flicker in the cosmos? Was it her fault for being foolish enough to think she could have brought her children there and then left with them safely?

Their arranged (read: forced) marriage was something he still refused to accept responsibility for. He had as little choice in the matter as she, and she never denied that. The customs of the Darkspear tribe before and immediately after their membership in the Horde had been uncompromising about marriage rituals, especially from the perspective of the prospective wife. When Khujand - still legally bearing the name Garot'jin at the time, years before the identity swap - left to fight the Burning Legion during the Third War, tongues began wagging.

It wasn't normal for a young female and male to be so close to one another, the villagers said. Clearly there must be something more there. Clearly, there must be something illicit going on, the elders whispered. By the time Khujand (still Garot'jin) had returned from the Battle of Mount Hyjal, a wedding date had already been set up without his knowledge or her permission, their futures being decided by their families over cups of stew without their own hopes and dreams being considered.

The entire society dictated that once their parents had set a date, the matter was finished and personal choice would not enter the minds of anybody involved. She always held it against him that he, as the male partner, hadn't tried to fight the whole ordeal harder. He always held it against her that she, having been the single soul in the whole universe who trusted him fully, refused to understand both his inability to fight an entire culture and his attempts to make their joke of a marriage livable for them both. Their friendship was shattered, her future seriously darkened and his private life outside of work became a bleak, unenviable time. Their divorce had been a godsend to them both despite the protests of the elders at Sen'jin, and his eventual arrest and supposed execution - after the identity swap - likely caused her and their children a great deal of embarrassment. Their culture, their backward culture which he resented so much, severed the connection to his best friend, but his own choices ruined the reputations and prospects of a normal life for his ex-wife and two children.

And here they were. In front of him after ten years of legal separation.

Her bright orange hair came into view first, always contrasting so strongly with her light blue hide. The years had only added to the beauty the other tribeswomen had always envied, and though their friendship had always been platonic before that was torn away from them, he realized now, after having been divorced from her for so long, how attractive she really was. The light cotton shirt she wore rose and fell with her breathing, and her knee-length skirt was muddied. Her hide was still smooth, though, and he remembered her habit of obsessively rubbing lotion into her legs even when she didn't need any.

Ten years on and it was still his childhood partner in crime. She was still Zulwatha.

For whatever reason, Khujand's psyche had reminded him of the victims he tortured in his nightmares for many, many years, but had blocked out the image of his daughter's appearance during both his waking and sleeping moments. As the girl slumped on the wall next to her mother, though, her identity was undeniable. Even newring the age of twelve, she still had those chubby cheeks he remembered commenting on (though couldn't remember seeing) the day she was born, one of the few occasions he got to see her before the divorce. Zulwatha had always refused to reveal the girl's name to him - she and her mother had chosen it, and he visited home so infrequently due to the tension that he managed to interact with his infant daughter those two times without speaking to her - but her visage was suddenly recognizeable. Her blood orange mane matched her eyes, and was somewhere between the sunset orange of her mother and vibrant scarlet of her father.

Curled up in Zulwatha's lap was a slightly younger boy, perhaps ten years old, still shorter than the girl. As the haze cleared away fully, more than the light blue hide and blood orange mane came into view. The round, supple cheekbones and square fingernails were definitely Zulwatha's, but the heavy bone structure, gapless teeth and slight electric glow to the boy's eyes signifying an aptitude for voodoo…they were all Khujand's. He had never met his son before; he and Zulwatha had divorced while she was still pregnant, and his arrest came soon after. Under such unfortunate circumstances, he was finally able to view his second child for the first time. Lorthiras had told Khujand of how Zulwatha had married a civilian - an engineer, mostly working on projects for civil development - and was providing for them better than he ever could. Khujand's children no longer needed him and were better off not knowing him, but to see them in the flesh - at long last - touched him in an instinctual, natural way as he was able to see the fruit of his loins alive and breathing in front of him.

For now.

At some point the feeling had returned to his limbs if not the full power, and he had crooked his neck over to view the family. The girl had taken notice and looked to her mother for guidance.

"Mother, will he help us?" she asked pitifully in Zandali.

Zulwatha's eyes bore the pain of a mother unable to care for her own children, and Khujand still knew her well enough to know it was killing her inside. Rasping to her in Orcish - the children were likely too young to speak it fluently if they had grown up surrounded by other trolls - he gave them all a jump as he tried his best to soothe them.

"Tell them...tell them I'm gonna help get ya all get outta here." His voice was low, and Zulwatha seemed as afraid of him as she was of their surroundings. "I'm not with them," he reassured her, again in Orcish. "I came here ta put a stop ta this. More people are coming ta help."

Their children huddled closer to her as he spoke, unaware that they were only a few feet away from the father they had heard so many bad things about. Even for Zulwatha, he might not be recognizeable; before leaving Draenor and even once at the port of Ratchet for a rummage sale, he had bumped into people from his past life who didn't realize who he was. He always shaved before - even his scalp - and had pierced ears, wore the war paint on his face rather than his body, and lacked the impressive muscle mass he currently had. He was no longer the gangly boy she had grown up with and later been forced to marry.

As she turned to her children, Zulwatha merely gave Khujand a nod to acknowledge what he had said. She truly didn't recognize him and could only regard his words as the uncertain promise of a sellsword she was sharing a cell with. Right then and there, her presence began to make sense. If she was really under the impression that this drug dealer calling himself Garot'jin was him - the boy she had grown up with, the father of her children - and she was so far from Sen'jin Village, she must have come willingly. The thugs had said something about expecting a woman to come with children. Garot'jin had threatened to pay her a visit in his letter to Khujand. So…he must have contacted her too, then. Perhaps threatened her as well, to force her to bring her kids there without her current husband. Zulwatha was brilliant despite her lack of formal education; tricking her was not easy. If she made such a dangerous decision, she was either legitimately afraid or believed there would be positive results from this. Khujand could only wonder; had Garot'jin promised to leave them alone if she brought the kids for a visit? Or did he threaten her new life if she didn't grant him a visitation? Was it all a ruse to lure Khujand there?

The conflict was slowly driving him mad. He wanted to ask a thousand questions, yet his shame for what he had put them through silenced him. Their friendship was forever ruined by their divorce, and for sure his children had been picked on for being the progeny of a war criminal turned drug dealer. Her new husband took care of them, but that only served as further reasoning for Khujand to leave them alone.

What use would it be to explain to her who he was? That he had been given a second chance and repented for his sins? How would that benefit her at all? No, he thought to himself. He would save them now and see that the seeds he had sewn would grow into healthy, happy adults, but they could not be allowed to know who he was. As far as they were concerned, he would just be a heroic adventurer who had fumbled while trying to stop their worthless, monstrous father but would be joined by allies soon. Every pain he felt when signing the legal papers in Lorthiras' office during the identity swap returned to him as he watched what was once his family, but he had to bear it for them. No matter how much it hurt, he would have to suffice with only watching them from afar, the truth going with him to his grave.

The voice from outside the door broke his silence, his former family's temporary respite and his masochistic plans.

"So dis be da one dat I heard so much about," a harsh, raspy voice said in Orcish with the heavy accent of a Darkspear tribesman who knew little of the modern world. It was grating and unpleasant to listen to, as though a chain smoker had caught a throat infection while chugging firewater.

The late afternoon sunlight filtering through the wooden planks over the window was blocked out as something - or someone - very large even by troll standards stood outside. The children clung even more tightly to Zulwatha in silence, and the three of them buried their heads into each other as even Khujand's usually confident, outspoken ex-wife cowered in the corner. He gave the thorium chains binding him a slight tug only to realize that while his vision and hearing had returned to him, his strength still had not.

"I hope ya like what we done wit' da place," the uneducated gurgle spoke again. Heavy, methodical footsteps made their way to the door as though the speaker were in no hurry.

The simple rope holding it shut was untied, and the mortified trembling of his two children and his ex-wife informed the Shadow Hunter of who this was. After so many years, the two monsters would finally meet. The torturer born as Garot'jin now living as Khujand slumped against the wall in his chains, while the highway robber born as Khujand and now living as Garot'jin ducked under the high doorway as he left the door hanging open behind him.

Lorthiras had mentioned a physical resemblance as one reason that the identity swap would work out, though their features weren't an exact match. The wagon fire the highway robber had lived through - the main reason for the cover up and identity swap, as the prison wagon officer needed a way to shift the blame - had scarred Garot'jin deeply, as had his outlaw lifestyle.

What Khujand saw standing in front of the entrance was nothing short of a nightmare version of himself.

A jungle troll's hide typically fell in a range from a light blue to dark purple complexion, usually unmarred by injuries due to their regeneration. Some still bore the coming-of-age scars which were incredibly difficult to create, but other than that they were usually unblemished; even damage to their livers and eyeballs could heal naturally.

Garot'jin, however, was changed by the wagon fire. What had once been a light azure the color of the sky had turned to ash grey. His entire body was the color of cooled down embers from a campfire, and it was peeling and cracking everywhere. The hide was soft around the joints, but everywhere else it was even tougher than the normal leathery texture of their race, and all the smoothness was gone; it was as though surviving the fire - the one weakness of troll regeneration - had strengthened his hide to the point of natural body armor. Deep cracks on his feet and hands were black with soot, and his nails were yellowed with black stains underneath.

All trolls are tall - even jungle troll males tend to be a bit taller than the average tauren male if they stop slouching. By the standards of their people, Khujand was above average though not by much; he had been able to look the titanic Baine Bloodhoof in the eye the one time they met. Yet impossibly, Garot'jin was even taller. The fact that he still ducked under the door even when slouching would have intimidated even an orc raider or night elf sentry, and his movements were jerky and uneven such that his intent was unreadable. The top of his back scraped against the low ceiling and his knuckles dragged in the dirt, adding to the image of the kind of person who would be considered too savage even for the Bloodscalp.

Garot'jin's two tusks hadn't been clipped like Khujand's, but they were unevenly curved and imbalanced in size. The bases were as dirtied as his teeth, and his lips were as chapped and cracked as his gnarled hide. One eye was a typical burgundy color, but the other was glassy and blue - very rare in their kind. His jawline jutted like Khujand's at an angle that was similar but not exactly the same, and one ear was lower on the head than the other. He was entirely hairless just as Khujand had been during his youth, though in Garot'jin's case it was likely due to the burns.

The two of them wore matching loincloths, and Khujand noticed his own combat knife stolen and sheathed on Garot'jin's belt. The drug dealer grinned wide at the incapacitated Shadow Hunter in front of him, as though he was also taking in the appearance of his counterpart.

"I heard so much about ya," Garot'jin laughingly hissed, the rumble in his lungs normal for trolls broken and uneven from experimenting with his own concoctions. "It took meh years ta build up dis small empire out heyeah, and I almost gave up on lookin' for ya. But I knew dat good for nuttin' lawyer ya got would warn ya. A good workin' agreement da two of ya got theyea, yeah. I couldna followed ya ta Draenor, but I knew from odder peoples returnin' dat ya had gone neutral, and was in wit' da non-factional cartels runnin' Ratchet. Pretty stupid, right? Runnin' around wit' dat elfie bitch ya done shacked up wit', wavin' ya weddin' bands round in front of Horde an' Alliance alike. News about da two of ya wadn't hard ta miss."

The children continued clinging to their mother, still too frightened to run out the door. Zulwatha's long ears pricked up, however, spying their Orcish conversation.

"So now, heyea we be. Jest ya and da fall guy ya lawyer tried ta send ta da gallows for ya crimes. Justice long in comin', yeah?"

Despite his own shady past, Khujand found himself unable to accept shaming from an unrepentant death merchant who abducted young people, including his own children. His contempt overrode his guilt as his groggy, uncoordinated face forced a defiant glare.

"Tha circumstances that led ta us switchin' rap sheets and names was outta my control and ya's," he responded weakly in his less accented Orcish. "Ya mad? Yeah, ya gotta right ta be. But ya was screwed over by a corrupt system, not me personally. At that point in time, I was prepared ta accept my fate."

"Oh, don't get meh wrong!" Garot'jin chortled hoarsely. "Since ya done stole meh identity, I been havin' a grand ol' time. Befo' I jest be stealin' food an' spare change from saps on da Gold Road. After I had da rep of a war criminal, I got da followers ta make da biggest drug operation outside af Booty Bay! Ya two timin' helped meh in a way."

Before Khujand could try to reason with the son of a bitch again, he had already knelt down to look his captive in the eye. Zulwatha's gaze was flicking between their faces and Khujand began to panic despite his drug-induced stupor. Even if it had been a long time, she had grown up with him. She knew his gait, his eyes, his voice; a mixture of confusion and rejection of what she was witnessing spread scross her face as she seemed to realize that the drug-dealing "Garot'jin" in front of her was not really her ex-husband.

"An' now, it be time ta repent fo ya sins fully. See, ya gonna help me replace all da men ya and ya elfie bitch done kilt."

Garot'jin began fiddling through his belt pouch with shaky hands, though Khujand knew better than to shift his gaze down. His strength and speed were sapped and he had to think fast to formulate a plan. He felt lost without Cecilia there to direct him.

"I heard ya be some powerful Shadow Huntah an' shit, and da way ya kilt forty-three of meh men…well, dat obviously means ya powerful enough ta replace dem. I usually keep da oddah Darkspear up here at da lab wit' me, ya know, coz our regeneration be lettin' us deal wit' more powerful shit. Da control needed ta turn people inta mindslaves needs ta be amped up. Da poison meh men shot ya wit' be a test. One is enough ta kill a centaur or tauren, four is enough ta enslave most trolls. Our regeneration just flushes everytin' outta our systems. Ya done took twelve an' jest...went ta sleep. It gonna take some more doses ta break ya, but it be meh hope dat da effort be wort' it - DAG!"

With unsteady hands and loose muscles, Khujand grabbed a hold of one of Garot'jin's brittle tusks. The drug dealer grabbed his arm with his free hands and fell forward, surprised by the vigor of the Shadow Hunter's grip after all the drugs pumped into his system.

"Shiiiiit, get in heyea!" Garot'jin gargled, choking on his own foul saliva as he failed to yell loud enough to alert his remaining mindslaves. "Where ya numbskulls be at?!"

The children screamed as Zulwatha hugged them closer, trying in vain to shield them from any more violence. Khujand grabbed Garot'jin's right tusk with both hands and yanked.

:: _SNAP_ ::

" **Mothafukkkkkaaaaa**!" Garot'jin groaned as his right tusk splintered and broke in half, freeing him from the grip of his captive but also giving the down-but-not-out fighter a weapon.

Before Khujand could stab him with his own tusk, Garot'jin finally found what he was looking for in his belt pouch. With a dexterity conflicting with his hand tremors, he wielded a syringe full of the poisonous drug from the darts and plunged it directly into Khujand's chest. A burning, stinging pain ripped through the flesh of his hide as the needle bored a hole through the meat, deftly avoided the ribs and hit its mark. The sharp delivery pierced his heart tissue as the chemicals were pumped in, and he dropped the broken tusk before he had even completed the death blow aimed for Garot'jin's head. Khujand's vision and hearing began to slip from him again as Garot'jin rose and slammed his broken tusk against the wall.

"Dat's right...let ya heart pump wild," Garot'jin gloated while rubbing the quickly swelling socket bearing only half a tusk. "Fast or slow, it be doin' da job."

Khujand reeled, fighting to remain conscious as the hole torn by the needle already closed up and scabbed, a testament to how hard his body was resisting. Yet there was something wrong: he was in control of his thoughts, but felt his body sitting up without him wanting to do so.

Garot'jin raised his left hand in the air. "Like dis. Raise ya left, doggie."

An unseen force seemed to pull at Khujand's left arm until he realized there was nothing compelling him to raise it. He imagined reaching out to grab Garot'jin's leg and trip him, then trying to wrestle him into an ankle lock, but his left arm wouldn't move forward. He felt an invisible wall on both sides and underneath, giving him only the option of moving it upward.

"Fight all ya want," Garot'jin taunted. "It ain't gonna work. Now...raise ya left hand."

Every muscle in his left arm felt like is was tearing as Khujand tried in vain to yank it down, realizing how futile it was as his hand lifted into the air without his permission to mirror that of his captor. He tried to shout every obscenity he knew, yet his jaw only slacked open numbly.

"Fall."

Adhering to Garot'jin's directions, Khujand slammed himself into the floor hard, holding his position despite the fall not having been enough to normally hurt him. Consciousness slipping from him due to the high of the injection, he fought to look at something other than the floor, unsure of whether he was dying or truly becoming a zombified mind slave.

Cursing and cackling at the same time, Garot'jin's madness shone through the haze. "Yeah, dere it is," he wheezed. "Da monster done came outta da cage. Wheddah ya like it or not, da final test of da control over ya be comin'. Ya elfie gonna try ta save ya, and ya gonna watch helplessly as ya own arms reach forward an' crush her skull between ya hands at meh command. An' den, when ya come ta understand dat ya ain't got no more choice in da matter, I be feedin' ya da livers of ya own children while meh new lady heyea watches."

Garot'jin slammed the door behind him as he left, eliciting shrieks from the sobbing children. The last thing Khujand could remember before he shifted into a dreamless sleep was Zulwatha staring at him, hints of recognition breaking through in her expression. The kingpin's voice echoed through the wooden door as he walked away, reaching Khujand's ears after his vision left him but just before his hearing did.

"Ya belong ta me, now..."


	12. Assistance Granted

Cecilia's legs burned as she ran. The river's currents had deposited her at the pond just like she had read on the map, and even with her reduced eyesight under the light of day, her millennia of tracking and navigation served her well. Despite the weight of her plate armor, despite the soggy leathers underneath, despite her fatigue from the skirmish on the mountain and treading water down the river, she ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Her heart pounded from both physical and emotional exertion. The logical, seasoned warrior in her understood that the sheer number of thugs meant Garot'jin had been expecting them. The darts, lassoes and nets meant that they had intended to take Khujand alive. The fact that they had so few men to carry him and the two raptors back meant that there was still time. The fetish she had stolen from the greenheaded troll meant she had a bargaining chip with the greenheaded witch doctor at the hunter's lodge that she intuitively suspected was the youth's mother. By all measures, allowing the river to carry her away was a temporary and strategic retreat, and was by no means the first she had engaged in during her thouands of years of patrolling northern Kalimdor for demonic or any other threats.

But Cecilia was no longer an emotionless drone, repeating the same rounds day in and day out in a waking dream. She was both a celebrated trainer of warriors and a loving wife, revelling in the balance between both ferocity and family. And now, it wasn't just any comrade who was in trouble: it was her husband. The one person who understood her trials and tribulations post-awakening, the other body with whom she shared a single soul. Scenarios flew through her usually level head as she tried to shut them out, both scaring and driving her.

She had engaged in long marches before; none of this was new. She was a soldier with more experience than any on Azeroth; nobody could compare to the women of the night elves. Her raw throat, sore lungs and winded body reminded her of what she did best. Turning her fear and concern for Khujand into fuel, she barrelled forward, closing the distance to the Darkspear hamlet in less than an hour.

Though most of her very long life had been spent solely among her own kind, Cecilia was experienced with all races due to her years working security on a neutral goblin ship and the fact that one of her close friends as well as her husband were jungle trolls had taught her to predict their reactions as well as the fact that she was a night elf had taught Khujand how to predict their reactions.

As soon as Cecilia saw the scattered structures of the hamlet, she slowed down. Most trolls were excitable and she didn't need to test her armor against their spears the moment she approached. With her hands raised above her head as she had done in jail all those years ago, she made herself as visible as possible.

They saw her at the same time as she saw them, and something was amiss. The inhabitants were all out on the dirt road in front of the hamlet's postal station in a commotion like the jungle trolls at the Southfury Watershed den a few days prior had been when Khujand grabbed one of them. Cecilia continued her approach and could see the greenheaded witch doctor conversing with another troll who was clearly not a local. He wore laced white shoes as well as a nerdy buttoned shirt and slacks like a handful of the more educated urban dwellers on Azeroth, and appeared upset about something. The hunters were gathered in a crowd, speaking more loudly and animatedly than the well dressed nerd, but they were also very aware of her presence.

Just as some of the hunters began pointing at her, Cecilia saw something that increased her hopes tenfold. Standing across from the agitated troll hunters were four 'foreigners': one tauren brave and three orc raiders. Two of them wore the familiar horned helmets and she realized they were Riders Jhash and Kerr, the highwaymen that had allowed her to pass without incident. They had followed through on their promise to bring help, however meager it was.

All eyes were on the soaked, panting night elf in sentinel's armor as she finally reached the hamlet. Two of the male hunters imnediately readied their spears and the sole female hunter stood up aggressively. Jhash and Kerr were already waving their arms in an attempt to calm them, and the more civilized looking troll pointed at Cecilia non-aggressively while pleading with the witch doctor woman. Her heart continued pounding as thoughts of seeing Khujand once more seemed more realistic.

Though her Zandali was rapidly improving, Cecilia had difficulty understanding all the words due to the tension in everyone's voices and the local trolls' lack of proper enunciation. Switching between the Zandali of the jungle trolls and the Orcish of the tauren and three orcs was a task in and of itself.

"This is her!" exclaimed Kerr to the civilized-looking Darkspear wearing shoes. "Her companion was the one of your kind we saw earlier." He cleared his throat before continuing and finally saluted Cecilia even though he'd refrained from doing so the last time they met. The three angrier hunters held their spears at the ready, but crouched low for the time being, signalling to Kerr that he could continue. "Where is your companion? And your raptors? You look as though you already fought with the outlaw band."

The tauren brave stayed silent, but moved to Cecilia's side as he shouldered the totem pole his kind often wielded as clubs. He viewed her with even more warmth than Jhash and Kerr did, an acknowledgement of the cordial relations of their people predating the Alliance and Horde both. "Ishnu alah," he grunted in poor, broken Darnassian as he stood to face the rest of the group with her, raising her spirits and her hopes that they could round up a sizeable group to preemptively strike the drug den.

The largest of the Darkspear hunters - a male with a light blue mullet that had been passive until that point - stretched to his full height. He was obviously unhappy that the tauren was standing next to Cecilia given his sour frown at the brave as the two stared each other down, and the three aggressive hunters began sputtering curses about the Horde - their own faction - out loud.

Realizing that she had been addressed, Cecilia switched to Orcish. "We slayed more than forty of Garot'jin's henchmen," she stated to Kerr in her formal sentinel voice. "They overwhelmed us though; my partner was drugged with darts and taken captive along with our raptors. There were less than a dozen left and they couldn't have even reached the drug lab by now. They had Darkspear trolls with them; I believe one of them is a relative of the witch doctor."

Cecilia motioned to the huffing matron with her hand, and when the eyes of the non-local troll, three orcs and tauren brave grew wide, she realized that she had made a mistake. Tension shot up rather than mounting escalating, and a large number of the locals stiffened up and pretended to be looking at any inanimate object away from the night elf that had just pointed at their leader. One of the hunters and several local Darkspear denizens hissed and the commanding female turned quickly in the night elf's direction. With her Zandali that was even accented despite it being her native tongue, she pointed at Cecilia rudely while interrogating the intimidated shoe-wearing troll.

"What she say?" the matron spat, the voodoo power in her eyes glowing like Khujand's.

The shoe wearer cringed away from her, and Cecilia understood the words 'wait' and 'translate' from him as the matron muttered inaudibly. When she finished, he turned his attention to the elf.

"My wife brought my stepkids up there," he stuttered nervously in Orcish. "That awful Groty…he's got some relations with them. From tha past. She said if she let him see tha kids once, he'd leave us alone. I told her it was a trap, not ta go…" He trailed off in his rambling as he attempted to control his erratic breathing. He was clearly distraught, and Cecilia realized that this was Zulwatha's new husband, just as Lorthiras had described him in letters. "Please, miss…please, did ya see any signs of my family?"

Cecilia was unsure of how much to reveal. Here was the current husband of her current husband's ex-wife, but this guy didn't know that because her husband's ex-wife thought the drug dealer in the mountains was her ex-husband due to Cecilia's husband's identity swap with the drug dealer…

…even her own head was spinning despite this being the story of her life. The complications made sense to her but were difficult to explain to anybody other than Irien and their immediate circle of friends. Jhash interjected as the witch doctor tapped her foot in impatience, increasing the tension in the air.

"I think the leader of this hamlet is bothered by a member of the Alliance pointing at her," Jhash announced in Orcish. "Look, I don't know your connection to the Shadow Hunter we met earlier, but you'd better explain what you meant about her relative. The entire community here is apparently upset that Horde leadership hasn't helped them, but they also seem unwilling to come with us to fight Groty directly."

"What you say!" barked a grizzled, older Darkspear hunter at Jhash in Zandali. There was more rabble from the jungle troll civilians in the settlement as they made their displeasure with both the Alliance and even the Horde known.

"One of the drugged young people had her shade of hair. Sea green is rare among jungle trolls," Cecilia blurted out in Orcish. As the civilized troll began translating, she whipped out the fetish she had grabbed from the young man earlier only to elicit a gasp and more angry rabbling from the locals.

One of the two male hunters wielding his spear pointed it right at her and growled a sentence with the Zandali words for 'liar' and 'betray' in it. He turned to address the impatient witch doctor and the non-hunters among the locals quieted down. The tauren and the tall hunter with a mullet continued their intense staredown while Jhash whispered something to the civilized troll; it was low, but Cecilia's long ears were able to make out the name 'Taro,' which she assumed was his.

The witch doctor shoved past Taro and approached Cecilia menacingly. She was not afraid, but slightly nervous; every second they wasted here was a second lost to save the hamlet's young people and her husband. Cecilia fought hard to push her anxiety about what could have happened to Khujand out of her mind, but the ache in her heart increased as the locals appeared less and less willing to help.

The witch doctor's stare was unnaturally intense, likely a result of her fel magic. "How you take?" Cecilia understood from the witch doctor's unrefined Zandali.

Digging deep, Cecilia pulled up all she could recall from what was her eighth language to communicate directly with the rare female leader of a jungle troll settlement. Perhaps she would be able to convince them more effectively if she reached out.

"I see son of you," Cecilia uttered in Zandali with confidence despite the rage in the other woman's eyes. "Garot'jin give him drugs. Son of you no think. But no hurt."

The entire crowd hushed as all eyes fell on the elf speaking the language of trolls. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife as the matron threw her wooden mask on the ground and grabbed her son's fetish charm from Cecilia's hand. What came next dashed her previously growing sense of hope.

"How you know troll speak?" the matron hissed pointedly, her electric glowing eyes narrowing.

Even the tauren and mullet-sporting troll had turned toward the two women, everyone shifting under the weight of the uncomfortable silence after the question.

The truth had to come out. It was the only way. But as Cecilia sought the words to explain, the realization that the person dearest to her heart, the husband she had waited so long to find, fought so hard to keep, was in grave danger. And what was worse, her ability to save them rode on her convincing this hostile group of historical racial enemies in the home territory of a faction opposing her race to join her. Despite her thousands of years in an emotionless state, despite her millennia of experience on the battlefield, despite the many friends and allies she had lost, Cecilia faltered. When she spoke, her voice cracked ever so slightly and the troll matron smelled weakness.

"I know troll speak for love I troll man." She snorted after her broken Zandali sentence, trying to prevent the feeling of loss and panic from breaking through in her expression, but the matron's shark-like frown and even more shark-like behavior demonstrated that Cecilia had failed. "Man I, he come for help you. Help sons of town you. Now I ask you, help man I. Groty take him, same same Groty take son you."

Silence. Deafening silence.

The last of the troll hunters - a male with a shaved head save a long braided ponytail on the back of his scalp - leapt over behind the witch doctor as she considered what Cecilia had said. Squatting and readying his spear, he aimed it at the night elf's stomach, causing Jhash and Kerr to grip the pommels of their weapons. How bizarre was it: two orcs prepared to fight a local on his own turf for the sake of a night elf. If they could look past her race, why couldn't this antagonistic fellow?

"Liar," the ponytail hunter murmured to the witch doctor matron as she seemed deep in thought.

"She is not a liar!" protested Taro weakly but much more fluently. His more proper Zandali, which was slower and easier for Cecilia to understand, appeared to be a handicap as a few of the locals snickered at the more formal manner of speaking.

The ponytail hunter turned to him, and everyone's eyes shifted to the two males. Their words were so plodding and pointed that Cecilia was able to understand everything.

"No Darkspear man keep Kaldorei woman long," the ponytail hunter spat in his poor grammar with derision and spite. "This is elf liar. This elf not helping us. This elf is prostitute for Shadow Hunter, and Shadow Hunter is criminal." Earning a few gasps from the locals, the man glared at Cecilia contemptuously. "Maybe Shadow Hunter working for Groty."

Even through the tension in the air and her fear for her husband's safety, Cecilia seethed. Before the murmuring crowd could speak, she acted. Prostitutes were not taken seriously by most people of Azeroth and jungle trolls were no different. If she couldn't refute the slander, they might accuse her of making the story up or even believe the idiot's claim that she and Khujand were working for Garot'jin. The braid of Khujand's vibrant scarlet mane had remained tucked behind her ear, but it was still tied to one of her earrings. Flicking it out so it was visible, she tried throwing down a familiar signal for them.

"No prostitute," she huffed at the ponytail hunter defensively, ignoring Khujand's past advice to behave passively around jungle trolls. "And no liar. I-"

"Every Darkspear man gives braids," the ponytail hunter hissed with a dimisive wave of his hand that enraged Cecilia's pride and self respect. "Not special."

The crowd of locals was looking at the arrogant accuser as though he were someone to be listened to. The raiders were no longer gripping their weapons but appeared defeated; they had obviously hoped to enlist the help of the lodge's denizens too, and with only four of them their chances of success would be significantly reduced.

Biting back her boiling anger which was only increased by this cretin's suggestion that her husband's token _wasn't special_ , Cecilia tried appealing to the matron's profession. She knew from Khujand that the witch doctors could read people's sincerity in addition to their fortunes. Taking another big risk, she walked forward until she was right next to the woman, ignoring Taro's hand signals for her to step back.

"Please," Cecilia pleaded in a low voice, allowing her emotions to break through. It could make her appear weak in front of the others but also demonstrate the truth in her words. "Man of I, son of you - same," she explained by intertwining her fingers. "Two need help. All here need help. I not lie. Look…"

Finally pulling out her trump card, Cecilia removed her left bracer and the water logged cloth strip she wore beneath it to the gasps, shrieks and hisses from the crowd and the gaping jaw of the matron. Secured around her left forearm was a solid gold serpent that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than a Darkspear wedding band.

Like all jungle trolls, Khujand had insisted on the serpentine bands on their forearms instead of rings, even if he wasn't particularly cultural in other aspects of his life. Each bangle was hand-made with care and would never, ever be sold, reused or given away, not even as an heir loom. It bore the markings of their tribe and was very rare and significant in a society where divorce was generally not accepted. Jungle trolls only exchanged these in the case of true love rather than mere lust, and like their language, the wedding bands were a part of their culture they protected carefully from 'foreigners.'

The accusations began to fly more quickly than Jhash and Kerr could calm down the crowd.

"Thief!"

"Whore!"

"Thieving whore!"

"She can't have that!"

"Not possible!"

"Never!"

"Kinjara, this elf play games!"

The last comment, made in anger, gave away another piece of ammunition. The situation was quickly boiling over and she needed a way to address the matron - Kinjara, apparently - directly. Breaking one of the rules Khujand had once told her, Cecilia left the metaphorical safety of standing next to the tauren highwayman and stepped closer to Kinjara, invaded her personal space, spoke her language and used her name all at once.

"Kinjara, man of I same son of you, same all sons of all people here," Cecilia said in a low voice as she stood a mere foot away from the witch doctor. "I…same…" She coughed involuntarily, the anticipation of what she was about to say increasing her heart rate even more. "I same you, same as other people here. I came for help you. Please, not...we not have big time. Man I came to help, now take him Groty, same same take your son. Please...I need for your help."

Shocking everybody and causing Taro to jump, Kinjara reached forward and grabbed Cecilia. When Kerr gripped the pommel of his weapon again she wagged her finger 'no' surreptitiously, signaling for him to stand down. She knew that her husband's people were very physical, and she'd have to accept the abuse if she wanted to enlist the help of the hamlet's leader. A strong, three-fingered hand clamped around the night elf's throat, squeezing firmly enough to rob Cecilia of her proper footing were the need to defend herself arise. Her neck was one of the few unarmored spots despite her wearing plate; even as heavy infantry, she was still an elf and still relied on mobility in battle. Rather than gasp like before, everyone around fell silent and even the tauren brave and mullet troll broke their staring contest to see what would happen next.

Without even wearing shoes, Kinjara was able to glare downward into Cecilia's eyes, and even with the wrinkles on her face signifying the many summers she had seen by troll standards, her grip was powerful enough to squeeze the air right out of the elf's lungs. The witch doctor held that cold, hard stare as Cecilia felt the invasive voodoo magic probe her to detect any lies. She didn't resist or push back; depending on her calmness in the face of aggression was what her experience pushed her toward, and she bore the hostility as a necessary part of her quest to vanquish a demon from her husband's past.

"Say now the truth," Kinjara hissed lowly, legitimately demanding an answer. "You fight for Garot'jin or against?"

"Against!" Cecilia croaked out as she began to feel dizzy.

"Shadow Hunter come here…mate you or master?" Kinjara asked in reference to the slander that would influence their perception of her enough to determine what they thought of her trustworthiness.

Cecilia's hurt at the suggestion of her wedding bangle not being special broke through along with her anger at the earlier insult, and she made no attempt to hide anything as she peered right back at Kinjara. Two greying women considered ancient by their own respective races, both of whom had buried many allies, close friends and even family members, shared a brief moment separate from the uncomfortable villagers around them. Despite Kinjara's rage at the world for forsaking the community she led and her defensiveness from an intrusive foreigner, there was a sudden softness in her eyes that she likely didn't realize had been revealed.

"Mate...love," Cecilia rasped out, her breathing difficult both from being choked and the desperation welling up inside her. "He family I."

The icy determination didn't leave Kinjara's death gaze and her grip held so firmly that for a moment, the retired sentinel didn't know if all had been lost or not. The mixed onlookers of orc raiders, Darkspear hunters, local civilians living around the lodge, one tauren brave and a single urbanized jungle troll were mesmerized by the exchange, all of them unsure of what to do.

Just when she was ready to break down and give up hope, Cecilia felt her wind pipe expand as an impediment to her breathing was removed. Kinjara moved her hand from the elf's neck to her shoulder, her stare still hard and aggressive but also deep in thought. Slowly, she turned to her people.

"Elf not lie," she stated with a monotone voice. "Shadow Hunter go to help. Elf come to help. Want to save our youth."

"No!" protested the ponytail hunter. "Not possible! Elf hooker leave with troll man to Garot'jin, come back alone! Not here to help!" All eyes had shifted from Cecilia to the infuriating hunter with a knotty ponytail, his backtalking to their leader inappropriate in almost any culture.

Kinjara glared at him before reaching to grab Cecilia's arm. In her typical overbearing trollish way, she pulled the elf forward without asking permission or giving warning and displayed the wedding bangle to the crowd again as if Cecilia's arm was a lab specimen on display.

"Shadow Hunters strong," Kinjara stated firmly, her voice commanding despite her botched syntax and sentence structure. She tapped Cecilia's wedding bangle when she began again. "Elf not able to steal; Darkspear man here before can only give to real mate. Elf speaks truth; Shadow Hunter will help us."

"Kinjara wrong!"

The wind blew through the hamlet before dying down, the ponytail hunter's audacity appearing unprecedented for the small, tight-knit community of isolationists. The impetuous rebel seemed absolutely uncompromising.

"Kinjara choice not safe us!"

The sole female among the hunters - who herself had prepared to impale Cecilia when she first arrived - moved past the rebellious troll and, in a similar overbearing and handsy manner, grabbed the elf's arm from Kinjara and pulled it closer to inspect the bangle without any warning. Her eyes shifted between the handiwork and the faded silver of Cecilia's eyes, the gears turning in the young woman's head. She looked to Kinjara for approval before shooting an angry look to the ponytail hunter.

"Woman this wears Darkspear wedding charm," she urged in a rushed tone. "So woman this same Darkspear woman!" She thumped the ground with the blunt end of her spear to emphasize her point, defiant even to the handful of locals who appeared to doubt her claim.

The ponytail hunter stared daggers at his counterpart, but before he could spit out what would likely be another insult, three more women broke from the crowd of civilians and stood in his way. They placed themselves to the left and right of the young troll huntress, forming a semi-circle between Cecilia and her accuser. They were…protecting her?

A shouting match between the two hunters ensued, too fast and with pronounciation too rough for Cecilia to understand, but she didn't need to. Her skin suddenly felt warm with the sensation that the tide had turned, joy filling her heart as she realized her gamble had succeeded.

The smile spreading across her face was broken when the tauren marched over to the group, looking perturbed that the rebel with an out-of-style ponytail was shoving his finger in the young woman's face. With a quick mind that surprised all the trolls, he suddenly addressed the young man in what little Zandali he seemed to have picked up from the heated exchange.

"Not do," the tauren ordered firmly. "Not do."

Another gasp escaped from the locals as the rebel troll whipped his spear up so fast that the brave had no chance to wield his totem. The blade of the hunter's weapon was aimed right between the bovine's eyes, ready to split his skull. Kinjara opened her mouth to protest, but was beaten to the punch by the towering jungle troll with a mullet who had been, up until a minute ago, ready to fight the tauren himself.

"Not do!" the mullet troll bellowed as he grabbed the ponytail troll's spear roughly and shoved the smaller man to the side.

:: _SNAP_ :: :: _WHACK_ ::

Breaking the spear in half with a squeeze of one powerful hand, the mullet troll gripped the broken spear like a club and clobbered the cretin with it, knocking him into the dirt. He didn't even twitch or writhe, simply laying in a heap as he practically started snoring after being knocked out. Everyone paused for a beat and then pretended like the ingrate's unconscious body wasn't even there.

Kinjara stepped in the middle of the crowd, patting the mullet troll on the shoulder as a signal for him to stand at ease. She turned to Taro, indicating for him to translate.

"Horde come help us?" she asked while motioning toward Jhash.

Recognizing the word 'Horde,' Jhash was already addressing their unofficial interpreter in Orcish. "The Horde isn't perfect, but we will not abandon our own," he said urgently. "We are very, very sorry that their community has been neglected. But we are here, we are ready, and we will bring home their young people tonight."

Taro urgently translated what Jhash had said, quite obviously worried about his own wife and stepchildren. "Horde is sorry, but they will help now and help after. They will not leave your people again."

Eyes darted between Taro and Kinjara, and the locals were obviously hoping for a certain decision. Cecilia's pulse raced as she waited alongside all of the others, watching the red glow of Kinjara's eyes flicker as the woman in charge considered what would obviu sly be a very big risk for the remaining members of her community. Finally, after seconds that felt like hours, she spoke.

"We go!"

With a sudden change of heart and surge of confidence, the locals sprang into action while shouting instructions at each other back and forth. The civilians were running left and right stuffing saddlebags with supplies and prodding raptors out to the road, and the four remaining hunters stepped over the unconscious, idiotic fifth to apply their war paint. The tauren brave mounted his kodo, beckoning three local Darkspear civilians wielding kitchen knives and wood-chopping axes to join him. The three orc raiders jumped back in their wolves, eliciting howls that only served to excite the entire posse even more. Nets, lassoes and blunt weapons were slung over shoulders as a minor raiding party of fourteen was organized, the remaining locals positioning themselves with broomsticks and plowshares around the entrances to their hamlet in the absence of the trained fighters to guard their homes.

Everything was happening so fast that Cecilia's anxiety over the fate of her husband subsided, and the warrior with millennia of experience proverbially bounced back. Picking up a bow and quiver of arrows for the first time in centuries - her size and strength had always led to her being stationed as heavy infantry or cavalry in the sentinel army, but the bow was the only spare weapon there - she approached one of the raptors, two Darkspear children holding out the reins to her.

Before she could mount up, she was stopped by Kinjara's hand on her shoulder.

"You one of us, now," the witch doctor grunted while twirling a bowl of war paint in her hand. "You wear death face."

Without asking permission again - not that she would have needed to - Kinjara removed the warrior's helmet and dipped her own fingers in the black and white gobs of paint and went to work. Cecilia closed her eyes as the local Darkspear women and even some of the men chuckled, with another pair of footsteps walking over to them.

"Look," Kinjara commanded.

When Cecilia opened her eyes, there was another small child holding a mirror up in front of her. With perfect handiwork using the familiar war paint that would stick for at least three days even through showers, Kinjara had designed a skull over Cecilia's face. Her cheeks, forehead and chin were all white and her eyelids, nose and spots on her lips signifying gaps in her teeth were black. Leaving her helmet in the saddlebags, the night elf donning face paint like a jungle troll mounted her raptor aside her witch doctor counterpart.

Waving goodbye and yipping war cries, the fourteen riders sped off under the late afternoon sun, determined to rescue Khujand, Zulwatha, the shared stepchildren of both Cecilia and Taro and all the youths who had been kidnapped and drugged by the monster who had terrorized west-central Durotar for far too long.


	13. Drug Bust

Many of his nightmares had started with blackness before. Folds of the mass would move over each other despite there being no difference in color or texture to otherwise indicate the presence of multiple strands and tendrils. Somehow, he always knew.

This, however, was an entirely different state.

Strands of ash grey gasses swirled over everything though in front of nothing. He would not have been able to describe it even if he had been sober, but it was clear upon viewing. Through his hazy vision, the cave came into view though the details were obscured from him. The rickety door was hanging open a crack, and the sky which should have been gradually darkening was instead a mess of the grey clouds. Some sort of musical hum of voices rang in the back of what he assumed must be his head, but his mind was too damp to process it fully.

As the universe came into existence again, Khujand was vaguely aware that the sleep induced by the enslaving drugs had been dreamless. The goal was to turn him into a mindslave, much like what some of the Gurubashi tribe had done to their own in the Cape of Stranglethorn. Already he could feel the aftereffects. The pain in his pectoral muscle and heart tissue had subsided as his regeneration did its job, but his muscles no longer responded to his brain waves.

He wasn't a vegetable. His body sat normally. His lungs breathed normally. His back leaned against the wall normally. But none of it would respond to him.

But his mind was still his own. The threat of Garot'jin rang through his head as he fought in vain to regain control over his unresponsive limbs.

'Ya elfie gonna try ta save ya, and ya gonna watch helplessly as ya own arms reach forward an' crush her skull between ya hands at meh command. An' den, when ya come ta understand dat ya ain't got no more choice in da matter, I be feedin' ya da livers of ya own children while meh new lady heyea watches.'

There was no way for him to escape the fact that he was at fault.

He should have fought the elders at the village harder, and saved Zulwatha, his very dearest friend for the first sixteen years of his life, from a loveless marriage and the end of their bond.

He should have accepted a lower paying job as a sentry at Sen'jin Village so he could have seen his daughter more than only two times, rather than chasing some childish fantasy to patrol roads in the Barrens like a wannabe adventurer.

He should have walked away the moment he saw the corrupt Warsong officers Nokar and Bralag flashing hand signals to each other as they convinced him that 'enhanced interrogations' could possibly serve any higher purpose in the civilized world.

He should have quit his job the first time he stood before the torture chamber that had been custom built for him, sparing dozens of prisoners of war the pain and suffering he would inflict.

He should have fought harder against Lorthiras' identity swap and accepted the death penalty he deserved, leaving the highway robber to a more befitting sentence.

He should have flung himself off that cliff overlooking the ocean rocks at the Shadowprey prison those years before, dying alone and unmourned in ignominy like he deserved.

He should have walked away from Cecilia at the end of those four nights in Gorgrond like he had planned, sparing her the intense love in her heart for a man who was now drugged and would be forced to kill her.

He should have chosen differently for virtually every life decision he had made.

Maybe he wouldn't have given Garot'jin the opportunity to abduct the young people from that hamlet and fill the region with his synthetic poison. Maybe his own two biological children wouldn't be trapped here now, their innocent, unjustly short lives about to be ended in the most horrifying way possible. Maybe his wife wouldn't meet her end at his own hands.

The same miserable, pitiless self-hatred he had felt during his darkest days in prison crept back in, depressing him so severely that he eventually even lost the ability to feel sorry for himself anymore. Khujand had no way of knowing how long he slumped against the wall in his physical and emotional paralysis before he heard it.

It was very faint, and sounded very far away. But it was still there, and still unmistakeable. His fiercest critic. His most unwavering friend. His most intimate confidante. His inner voice.

 _What the hell happened to you_ , the voice rang in his head. The usual sympathy was absent, replaced with a dismissive scorn.

"Nice ta see ya decided ta show up, asshole," Khujand somehow managed to speak out loud despite lacking control over any other muscles in his body. He wasn't even sure which of his four languages he was speaking anymore, and that his kids or ex-wife might hear him didn't cross his mind.

There was an eerie sense that he could have controlled his own neck had he wanted. Khujand did not exercise that control, however. It was pointless; he had lost. It all was going to end soon, the culmination of his own bad decisions, and he could do nothing but wait for the inevitable as his own inner voice taunted him.

 _You've been through some seriously hopeless situations before_ , the voice said. _What are you doing? Of all the times to give up, you choose this time, with so much riding on the line?_

Reveling in the contact with a non-hostile force and grasping for any sort of assistance, he indulged the voice.

"What am I supposed ta do?" He asked harshly, his morose frustration showing. "Tell me, genius. I'm high, paralyzed and chained by a gang of drug pushers in tha mountains, and tha authorities gave up tryin' ta solve this case. What sort of solution is there?"

 _With an attitude like that_ , the voice creaked with a know-it-all tone, _you'll never get out. The power to end this lies within you. You know your talents and abilities, but if you're resigned to giving up and sulking, then not even the entirety of the world could help you._

The tough advice only served to enrage Khujand, and he could have sworn that he felt his blood in his veins despite the numbness all over.

"Great fuckin' advice ya worthless fuck. Tha power is within' a drugged out phony sittin' in a cell talkin' ta himself in his own head. Waste of damn time."

There was a long pause before the voice returned, but he knew it would. Through the sixth sense all practitioners of voodoo, shamanism or moon magic possessed, Khujand felt as if a presence stood in front of him.

 _You still think I'm you, don't you?_

The words and their implied meaning rang in his head. His exhaustion and hopelessness weighed down on him and caused the jungle troll to question his own sanity. The entire experience overwhelming him, Khujand's defiance took over as he refused to respond with his lips or look up with his neck.

 _Still believe I'm just your own inner monologue, right? Like your subconscious speaking to you?_

"That's all ya are."

As soon as he spoke the words, he knew he had made a mistake. Given something to latch on to, the voice pressed forward, causing Khujand to question a great deal of what he had known about himself.

 _Tell me, when is the first time you remember hearing me inside your head?_

The presence in the cell remained where it was, not moving forward or backward, Khujand refusing to meet the gaze he felt burning down onto him.

"Ya were always there."

 _Not true_ , it insisted. _When was the first time you almost fell flat on your ass in shock at the words in your own head which you exercised no control over? The time you stumbled into a pile of hemp rope?_

Sensation returned to Khujand's back as he bristled at the remembrance. His fear of the unknown wanted the conversation to end now, but his desire for his wife, children and even his ex-wife to survive took over.

"When I was fourteen years old."

 _Doing what?_ the voice asked.

"Vol'jin and I were practicin' with his dad."

 _Practicing what?_

Sensation returned to Khujand's jaws as he grit his teeth together, and to his fingers as his fists weakly clenched. The slow, drawn out conversation was irritating beyond all desription.

"How ta defend my people ya dumb shit."

 _Defend our people with what?_

"Voodoo, what tha fuck do ya think!" Khujand growled with a firmness outside the realm of his usual uncertainty.

 _You didn't believe me when I said your elder training partner would one day lead yours and other peoples, did you?_

"Kinda hard ta take a disembodied voice in my head seriously."

 _But I'm not just a voice in your hea-_

"So what tha fuck is tha point of all this?" he shouted.

Finally turning his head up, he looked over to his ex-wife and their children, worried that his insane ranting out loud in a language he wasn't even sure of would terrify them. It was Khujand, however, who was terrified at what he saw. The three of them were absolutely motionless as though they were frozen in time, every inch of their bodies and clothing swirling with the grey gaseousness flowing within the surfaces. Just out of view was the pair of toeless feet composed of the same swirls of blackness that normally invaded his nightmares and good dreams alike.

When the voice didn't respond, the jungle troll's anxiety pushed him to see just who or what exactly was speaking to him. The details of the figure were difficult to make out. It was tall, but not as tall as he was. The entirety of its body was the same shade of black swirls, the different dimensions and the distinction between its arms and body difficult to discern. It was vaguely trollish in shape, but aside from the long teeth that didn't appear to belong to either an upper or lower jaw, the face was difficult to see. Two sideways points on the top of the head could have been either horns or ears; there was no way of knowing. The only sign of familiarity were the two brightly glowing red eyes.

 _You're right in blaming yourself_ , the voice rang in his head. _At least partially. Your foolish decisions, contrary to all my loyal advice over the years, did lead you here. That, and the decisions of others. You're as guilty as everyone else._

"So ya're not gonna do anythin' other than lecture me about tha past?"

 _Maybe_ , the dark being with a dark voice replied. _You're stubborn, even more stubborn than your last few ancestors. You're a rock, and I've carried this rock for far too long. I've helped you too many times for a supposed hero, and you've ignored my help too many times for somebody considered clever. Here you are, not only asking for my help again but prepared to give up if I don't grant it_.

"Cause I don't have anythin' else ta do. And this isn't just about me...it's about my family. It's about tha people hurt by this guy. I've done wrong, but they haven't; they're tha ones who deserve me ta fix this for them."

The dark, nearly featureless figure motioned toward his two children. _We're all sinners, every last one of us. Even your progeny here will grow up one day and will be guilty before they even grasp the conce-_

"Spare me ya philosophical bullshit," Khujand grunted as he cut off the offended looking black mass' monologue. "Ya mad cause I don't follow ya advice, then get tha hell out. Ya don't believe me that I'm askin' sincerely this time for tha sake of those close ta me, then fuck off."

There was another pause as the strange being considered its words.

 _You're not even interested in knowing what I am?_

"Ya're either my own mental illness playin' tricks on me, or a loa. And I'm a second rate Shadow Hunter cause I don't worship anythin' that can die and don't believe in ranks of demigods and all that rubbish. So if ya here ta beg for my devotion, then ya mere purpose for comin' should explain why my answer is 'no.' Leave me ta wallow in my self-inflicted misery."

The black mass refused to kneel down and look at him at eye level, but it did tilt its head in an attempt to catch Khujand's attention again. Its lack of features expressed no reaction, but he could sense its bemusement at his anger.

 _You still have quite a bit of fight left in you_ , it said. _There is hope for you yet_.

"I don't give a damn about myself!" the jungle troll yelled. "Show me hope for my family, for my wife, for tha people sufferin' cause of my mistakes, and then we can talk!"

Khujand looked up to see the single row of long teeth without a mouth arch into a smile. The being's left eye coiled smaller like a snail's shell would if it shrank before expanding again as it examined the seething jungle troll on the floor.

 _I can show you hope_ , it whispered with a temptuous tone as though it wanted to make a deal. _But we won't talk. If I help you this last time despite you not deserving it, understand that there will be a price. The assistance I can grant this time will be my last gift to you; we will_ _ **never**_ _speak again. There are numerous questions about the nature of our relationship that will arise in a life I can now guarantee will last slightly longer than what one would expect for a fool like you. Those questions will never, ever be answered, and I will never protect you again. Are you prepared to accept living and dying with this aspect of yourself forever unknown?_

The words of warning did nothing to quell the jungle troll's impatience, and sensation returned to every nerve ending in Khujand's body as he regained control of his muscle fibres once more. "God damnit if ya know one thing about me, it's that right now, I don't give a shit about none of that! Help me or get lost!"

The black mass displayed no emotion as it examined the man who had been its charge for so long. Whatever the nature of their relationship truly was, that relationship would disappear along with the being of dark swirls, an eternal secret which was traded for the souls Khujand cared for in this worldly life.

 _As you wish...and farewell,_ it spoke to him for the last time.

The numbness returned at the same time that the grey swirls faded away, and Khujand's ears were greeted by the cacophony of a melee outside. His former family had crawled into the far corner, the two children screaming behind Zulwatha as she tried her best to shield them from the trauma.

Something hard banged on the door as a sword pierced through, the blood of a human on the tip. Ignoring the dead man outside of the door, a barely living man inside dug deep and fought through the numbness. A loud shriek of screaming metal rang out through the cave as a thorium chain was pulled apart by weakened, uncoordinated hands, leaving a nearly broken man panting on the floor as he fought to his feet.

* * *

None of the fourteen rescuers had expected Garot'jin to have so many backup forces outside his open-air lab in the mountains. There had been over fifty for the skirmish down on the mountain path that morning; up at the top of the mountain overlooking the Southfury River, there were roughly half that number still waiting for their arrival in the evening. Twelve of the defenders were merely hired thugs paid to brew, ship and sell drugs; the other twelve were Darkspear mindslaves, every one of them mere teenagers.

It was a precariously difficult fight. The hired goons could just be killed, but the dozen drugged youths were the reason the hunters from the hamlet had come; they had to be subdued with blunt weapons and restrained until Kinjara could cleanse them of the poison Garot'jin had tempted them into taking. No killing blows were possible and care had to be taken to avoid hurting their young people, all while dodging the vicious strikes of the hired goons and the wild swings of the resistant, mindless teens.

Cecilia stood atop a boulder, firing away with her arrows. She hadn't fought at range for centuries, but as a retired sentinel, her training was extensive and muscle memory still pushed her beyond the skill level of any archer of the lesser-lived races. She only had ten arrows left, so each shot had to count.

The fight below her perch on the boulder was pure chaos. The hunters, raiders, civilian militiamen from the hamlet and the single tauren had to knock back the drugged teenagers without hurting them while fighting off the vicious hired goons at the same time. One of the goons had another blowgun, and he and Cecilia took turns sniping at each other as they hid behind rock cover.

With the blowgun sniper finally running to hide, the orcs pushed forward into a mob of the drugged teenagers, their heavy armor providing cover from the clumsy, uncoordinated strikes flying at them. Kerr reached up and hit one of them on the temple with the pommel of his axe, knocking the teenaged boy down long enough for the tauren to lasso his head and left arm and drag him over toward the three civilians who secured him to a gnarled, dried out tree stump.

Notching another arrow in her bow, Cecilia scanned the melee and stopped short when she saw ruby red scales bucking in a pen made of old fence posts.

"The raptors!" she called out in Orcish, directing the tauren and the third orc whose name she hadn't learned toward the far end of the open-air camp tucked into the mountain rock. "Those two are ours - they recognize the goons as enemies!"

Following the orders of a person they incorrectly assumed to be a member of the Alliance, the pair broke all rules of factional relations and charged toward the far end of the camp. One hobgoblin goon and a drugged teenager chased after them, but with two plucks of the bow almost too fast to see, Cecilia sank one arrow through the hobgoblin's head and another through the teenager's leg, incapacitating but not seriously injuring the young lady wielding a skinning knife. The tauren lifted a wooden gate holding the raptors in the pen just long enough for the orc to cut the rope securing it to the ground. The wooden poles that comprised the pen gate fell apart, allowing the two dinosaurs to break free.

"Screeeeeeeeech!" the two raptors…well, screeched as they dove into the chaos, chomping and slashing at the hired thugs.

Being well acquainted with their mounts of choice, the Darkspear hunters hurriedly beat their drug-crazed youth back from the rest of the battle, using their spears as staves to push the teenagers away from the raptors and goons and try to take them down with as little violence as possible. More than one of the hunters took a few cuts from the poorly-wielded blades in the clumsy hands of their younger kinsmen, but soon the nets were out and more than half of the teenagers found themselves pulled to the ground with little more than scrapes and bruises.

Cecilia fired again and again at the goons until she realized she had only three arrows left. Still standing on her perch, she spied something large and grey like cooled off cinders creeping behind the orc raider and the tauren brave at the far end of the melee, their backs to the raptor pen and a cave-cut room boarded off with plywood. When the grey pile of burnt wood began to move, she realized that it was alive.

"Look out!" she cried just a second too late.

The orc turned in time to see a meat cleaver with both blade and handle fitted for hands the size of an ogre's swing down onto his head. Scalp, skull, gullet and chest cavity were split evenly down the middle, and so powerful was Garot'jin's swing that the stalwart Horde soldier's two shoulders actually fell to each side as his upper body was cleft in two. The orc's body curled over like a shriveled green flower, flopping into a bloody mess on the ground before his companion could do more than turn around and bellow in pained rage.

The tauren brave swung his mighty totem down, but Garot'jin displayed a speed that betrayed his size as he launched himself forward without even pulling his meat cleaver from the orc's torso. Ramming the tauren's chest with his shoulder, he launched the bovine into the back of the sole surviving centaur among the hired thugs, knocking them both to the ground as six hooves flew up in the air. The tauren intentionally jammed his elbow down onto the centaur's skull with a sickening thud, both neutralizing one threat and leaning up with one arm to protect himself from another. The drug kingpin himself yanked the cleaver out of the green corpse, ready to swing at the furry hand raised in a poor defense.

:: _WHOOSH_ ::

An arrow flew right in front of Garot'jin's crooked nose and impaled the pesky blowgun sniper through the chest. The masked man blew his final dart with an insufficient amount of force, and it soared in a low arc and embedded itself in the calf of one of the drugged teenagers, giving Kinjara enough time to grab the young man by the arm and fling him toward his three civilian kinsmen who promptly hog tied him.

An imbalanced mixture of pure hate and sick glee shone in Garot'jin's discolored eyes, and he ignored the stumbling tauren as he hoisted the meat cleaver to his shoulder. Focused on who he immediately knew must be Khujand's wife, the kingpin waved his hand as the remaining two gangly teenagers tried unsuccessfully to tackle the tauren brave, their clumsy hands grasping for his horns to pull him down as he put them both in a headlock with each arm.

Cecilia had two arrows left, and by Elune she would make them count. Notching one of them in her bow, she took careful aim for the skull of the man who had torn apart so many families - like she and her husband had once done, only unlike them, Garot'jin was unrepentant and even celebratory about his crimes. Knocking aside friend and foe alike, the vicious Darkspear reject stomped over to her boulder methodically, sizing her up as he watched her bow. A path was cut in the mess of clashing weapons and bodies, and the disarray was thrown into even further disarray as he shoved people out of his way.

She waited, not wanting him to know the exact moment when she would let the projectile fly right into his skull. Just when his uneven gait seemed to amble to the side, she released, and immediately regretted her actions.

"Help!" cried out one of the Darkspear civilians-turned-militiamen as Garot'jin reached out with a single long arm and grabbed the man by the ear.

Dragging the man in front like a living shield, Garot'jin ensured that Cecilia's arrow pierced the civilian's stomach, promising a painful departure from the battle if not healed quickly.

"Bastard!" she hissed in Darnassian, her anger clearly pleasing the sick son of a bitch.

There were only a few second to spare after Garot'jin dropped the impaled militiaman to the ground, but Cecilia had millennia of experience doing this; she dug deeper than even when searching for words in her eighth language that afternoon and trudged through the depths of her knowledge.

The crude bow she held wasn't bladed like a proper Kaldorei one, and couldn't be wielded as a melee weapon. She wasn't afraid of Garot'jin, but she could tell just by looking that he would be an even more difficult duel than the doomguards she fought during the Third War. He was nowhere near as skilled with his meat cleaver as a night elf would be with a blade, but with the sheer amount of speed and strength his narcotics-fueled body had, she conceded that he didn't need much more than a minimum theshhold of skill. Her last resort martial arts training was paramount though his savage, instinctual style akin to that of a thunder ape was just as daunting, and Garot'jin was even tougher than most - perhaps even tougher than her husband, as much as she hated to admit. There was only one way to take the scumbag down.

Cecilia notched her last arrow, knowing her mark had to be true. She was focused. She was determined. She was from an elite fighting regimen that had watched over the planet dutifully since the beginning of time. She had no weaknesses.

Except one.

For a split second - just a fraction of that second - she hesitated. There, emerging from what looked like the wooden bunker built into the mountain rock, was the reason she had come. Helping the Darkspear hunters get their young people back and ridding the land of a drug lab were also goals, but those were secondary. With tired legs and a slouching posture that wasn't his habit, her husband, the love of her life, lurched forward. As their eyes met, her heart was torn as the fear for his safety subsided only slightly in the midst of battle. Khujand's eyes grew wide as he tried to shout something to her, but his voice was strained from the effects of the drugs.

She didn't even see it coming.

" **Aaaahhh**!" Cecilia she grunted gutturally as a searing pain worse than a salted paper cut ate into her midsection. Her entire body was rocked with the force of the blow and her bow tumbled to the ground below the boulder she stood on as she fell to her armored knees. She gasped for air after having the wind knocked out of her, but found a sharp, burning pain across her midriff in addition to a strange runny feeling.

A creeping, grubby hand latched onto her shoulder and raised her up partially, and she was able to see the heavy blade embedded in her side. Garot'jin's meat cleaver had sliced clear through her thorium plate, chopping into her body and - based on her knowledge of her own anatomy - cut a hatch mark into one of her ribs. Her hauberk had been curved inwards to cut even deeper into her flesh and one side of her back muscles cramped up. Pulling back, Garot'jin ripped the meat cleaver out of her side, pulling the wind out of her lungs again and preventing her from screaming due to the agony that wracked her entire torso. He forced her entire body to move by only pressing his index finger against her, nudging her back into a kneeling position with his hand as he stepped away from her to gloat.

Cecilia looked up at him from her boulder, clutching her wound as she struggled to catch her breath. She coughed and there was blood on her chin.

Ever the cocky, spiteful being he was, Garot'jin took his time measuring the next chop to her neck as he practically strutted in place. His rapidly dilating and contracting pupils buzzed from his cleaver to her neck as he grew so excited his asymmetrically sized nostrils began to open and close like a camel. Yet just as rapidly as his arrogant triumph overtook him, his sneer was wiped away by a look of confused disgust.

The pain remained in Cecilia's side, but decreased as a soothing warmth flowed underneath her skin. Breathing became easier and the muscles in her back relaxed as she felt a second wind build up inside her. The very flesh of her midriff moved on its own accord, shifting and pressing until the runny sensation of blood loss stopped. It was only then that she saw the bizarre red light that didn't match the color of any magic she was used to seeing.

"Mothafukka, whaddaya tink ya doin'?" Garot'jin bellowed at Khujand.

With a focus in his eyes signaling that the attempt to enslave him had failed, Cecilia watched as her husband focused what she assumed was a healing spell based on voodoo rather than druidism, the Light or the blessings of Elune. Khujand had only been training in healing spells for a few months, but he had a background in his people's own brand of magic going back nearly two decades. It was sloppy, it wasn't particularly strong, it costed more mana than it should have and half the power of the spell seeped out uselessly into the air surrounding them, but Khujand's chain heal did the trick. A beam of red light flowed from his outstretched hands to Cecilia, then bounced to the militiaman that had been impaled in the stomach and on to the young female mindslave who had been hit with an arrow in the leg. He continued shooting the chain heal until his mana was spent and, for the first time since that wild, unplanned Tanaan Jungle adventure with Irien and Meatball back on Draenor, Cecilia saw the glow leave his eyes entirely as he used the last he had to heal the three of them enough to save them from the brink of permanent injury (or death, in her case).

The kingpin tore and angry trail as he backtracked toward his would-be mindslave. "What da fuck is dis?!" roared Garot'jin as he knocked Jhash, Kinjara, one of the hunters and two drugged teens into two of his own remaining henchmen.

Panting with exhaustion as he tried to collect himself after expending all his mana, a disoriented Khujand looked toward his nightmare self as it stomped toward him. They both snarled and even the experienced raider Kerr dodged out of their way as Garot'jin raised his meat cleaver.

"I shot ya directly in da heart! Ya sposed ta do what I say!" The drug dealer swung his meat cleaver down and Cecilia stumbled from her boulder as she tried to follow but found that while her rib had healed, she was still too weak to run.

She watched with horror as her heart jumped into her throat and she froze, everything she had feared happening before her eyes. Every moment she and Khujand had spend together flashed in front of her. The night he smuggled her out of prison and she peered right into his soul, the night they shared their first dance in a moonlit wellspring in Gorgrond, the night he sheepishly asked her to marry him, every loving night she spent in his arms as she explaind the constellations to him, every story she told by the campfires as he hung on her every word, every moonrise they woke up and she could smell herself on him...she felt as though she were ready to burst right there, the unfairly short life they had shared together about to be so cruelly taken away.

Displaying speed even a Kaldorei nightblade would envy, Khujand shot his hand out at the last minute and clamped his larger hand over the taller man's somehow slightly smaller fist gripping the meat cleaver.

"Yarrrrggghhh **mothafuck** **yaaaaaaa**!" Garot'jin screamed almost pathetically, like a bully with his nose bloodied, as Khujand crushed his hand and twisted his wrist until the meat cleaver's wooden handle shattered between their fingers, sending the blade falling to the ground and sliding down the uneven surface of the mountain pass, out of reach of both of them.

The two massive jungle trolls clinched, Garot'jin all force and Khujand all finesse. Cecilia watched in frustration as her legs disobeyed her, unable to prevent the drug dealer from the dirty move she saw him moving for. Going for the low blow, his foot struck out like a snake in the grass and kicked Khujand right between the legs, unaware that the paranoid Shadow Hunter always wore a metal protective cup when going anywhere he could get into a fight.

"Ffffffffuuuuuuck!" Garot'jin screeched with a high pitched voice as he stumbled back, his foot not actually swelling but certainly stinging from having collided uselessly with the stainless steel groin protector.

Twisting out of Khujand's grasp with another screech, Garot'jin pulled the combat knife he had stolen from Khujand earlier and stabbed the Shadow Hunter in the thigh, twisting the blade to keep him at bay long enough to grab another one of his own henchmen.

"Boss, I don't want to die!" the orc wearing a dirtied white t-shirt squealed as Garot'jin launched him right at Khujand.

Catching him in mid air, Khujand slammed him down next to the tauren who promptly stepped on the small of the orc's back with his hoof, pinning at least one captive from among the hired thugs to pump for information later. Garot'jin was already halfway around the mountain bend thirty yards away by the time four of the drugged teenagers broke free, and the tauren, the two raiders and the four hunters fought to hold the teenagers separate from the enraged raptors as the two uninjured militiamen rushed over with more nets and lassoes.

Chaos ensued again, though the heroes had the conflict under control as all they had to do was tie their mounts and their young people down long enough to calm or cleanse as needed.

Heat lighting rumbled through the rainless clouds overhead, disorienting Cecilia's nocturnal eyes with the mixture of light and dark. Still heaving from the pain of what was once a serious injury though now a temporary impediment, she desperately held pressure on the cut as she fought to her knees. Just as she felt stable enough to walk around the rambunctious crowd, she saw two jungle trolls drop out of sight as her fatigued, limping, bleeding, disoriented husband chased after a very much rested, uninjured, unimpeded Garot'jin unarmed.


	14. Identity Crisis

**A/N: Graphic violence lies ahead.**

Running at full speed despite his exhaustion and blood loss, Khujand followed the winding tracks of Garot'jin's two unevenly sized bare feet as he tried to prevent the kingpin from escaping. The beaten mountain path was just as uneven, and once it began to slope downward toward the bank of the Southfury River where he had heard the drug shipments were dropped off, he had to strain his sore leg muscles to avoid sliding.

Garot'jin was nowhere to be seen, but his wheezing breaths could be heard, along with his insane rambling off in the distant dark of early night.

"Wort'less sunsa bichis, da whollotta dem," the drug dealer coughed as he cursed the dozens and dozens of henchmen he had lost that day.

Ears perked up, the Shadow Hunter slowed down as to avoid alerting Garot'jin to his presence as he approached. This wouldn't be a fair fight, and although Khujand had never been stealthy, the death merchant's perturbed, distracted state just might make him easier to sneak up on.

Khujand had burned out his mana using his chain heal spell in a real combat situation for the first time. He had only begun training for the single healing spell a few months ago, and although the fact that he bore a natural aptitude for spirit magic and was already experienced with other spells based in voodoo, he was still an amateur. The chain heal was inefficient in terms of effectiveness-versus-energy use, bled out much of its power into the air or the uninjured parts of his allies' bodies and required more focus than it should have. By all measures, he shouldn't have been able to stop Garot'jin's swing with the abomination-sized meat cleaver in midair, but for whatever reason, he had been. And now he was still alive.

With Khujand's mana spent, the power of his voodoo left him temporarily along with the healthy glow of his eyes. Loose gravel and sand increased in volume at the very end of the mountain pass in leading toward wharf used as the narcotics dropoff point, and he had to tread carefully to avoid slipping.

There was no rain from the clouds that night, but heat lightning continued to ripple from cloud to cloud, causing minimal noise but illuminating the path every few seconds. The mountains of Durotar parted and a the land dropped into a short cliff over an inlet of brackish water. The wharf was rather difficult to detect from Khujand's vantage point many, many yards up the path, but when the heat lightning flashed again, he could just barely make out the image of a crude rope bridge leading to a barrier island covered in palm trees and, unless his eyes were decieving him, the Barrens far across the river.

It was only a split second of illumination, but it was enough; the nearer he came to land's end, the better he could see due to being up close. Garot'jin had knelt down near the beginning of the rope bridge - there was no way it could have supported the body weight of either of them - and appeared to be gathering up items in a bag. If the drug dealer was as paranoid as the Shadow Hunter was, Khujand surmised about himself, he would keep a stash of emergency rations and travel gear near the hidden dock in case he ever needed to slip out and abandon the narcotics lab.

Not so, thought Khujand to himself, his mind now occupied by only one voice but his thoughts clearer than they ever had been in his many years. Garot'jin had threatened to kill his children, had tried to kill his current wife and abduct his ex-wife, had drugged a dozen young people into base slaves and demanded tribute from their families, had murdered a brave soldier of the Horde in a cowardly way, and had ruined so many families with the poison his thugs were pushing in back alleys throughout east-central Kalimdor.

Khujand was not innocent either, but at least he repented and was even slowly trying to make up for his crimes. Garot'jin was a different level of scum. Khujand's guilt complex might have clouded him to the realization before, but as he slid down the last of the sloping mountain path onto flat earth, he realized fully and knew what he had to do.

Paranoia seemed to be a shared trait, as the drug kingpin had already turned to face Khujand by the time he stood close enough to see him clearly despite the dark. Both of them paused, having been rushed in their efforts and catching their breath. Rather than waving Khujand's combat knife he had stolen in a threatening display, Garot'jin faced him with a crooked smile that reeked of bullshit as he pulled an oversized coinpurse from his travel pack and tossed it to the Shadow Hunter's feet. It fell with a clank, and both of then stood motionless as they stared each other down.

"A tousand gold pieces raght deyea," Garot'jin beamed in Orcish with acting skills that could possibly have helped him find a legit career in another life. "Take it and back da fuck off. Ya nevah found meh."

Before the death merchant could even finish his smarmy offer, Khujand had already snatched the bursting-at-the-seams purse and weighed it with his hand. Another silent flash of heat lighting revealed a troupe of spawning crocolisks beneath the rope bridge, and Khujand tore a hole in the coinpurse before flinging it at the enraptured reptiles. The coins tumbled out, bouncing off the scutes of the reptiles and sinking deep to the riverbed.

Garot'jin only sighed, his eyes betraying no fear at all from the wounded Shadow Hunter. "Ya just made da biggest dumb mistak-"

" _Ya threatened ta kill my children_ ," Khujand hissed also in Orcish, the two of them foregoing their shared mother tongue without noticing.

Like a wave, the kingpin's smarmy expression fell away from one high ear to the other lower ear. Irritation spread across Garot'jin's face as he finished stuffing items in his travel pack and zipped it up. His full attention was devoted to Khujand, the petty mockery clear in his tone. "And now ya leetle brats be okay, so no harm dun." He finally brandished the stolen combat knife and slouched forward, the silent challenge accepted. "Ya elfie be okay after all. It would be a damn shame if, aftah all dis, ya unable ta join dem."

Khujand's nostrils began flaring, and no longer from fatigue alone. " _Ya threatened to kill my children_."

Two more flashes of heat lightning illuminated the pure hate reverberating back and forth between the two jungle trolls. "How's da arm?" Garot'jin taunted spitefully.

More silence. Khujand sized up the nightmare version of himself - just as heavy as him and perhaps half a head taller and a whole lot meaner - as Garot'jin's fingers twitched nervously in impatient anticipation.

"Ya move, mistah voodoo MREH!" the drug dealer roared as he tried to throw a cheap shot during his own sentence. Garot'jin had been standing too far away for his slash to connect, and Khujand slouched as well with his arms spread wide as he tried to grab the psychotic dealer by the wrists.

The two men scuffled, pushing and pulling back and forth as Garot'jin swung like the madman he was while Khujand tried to dodge and control his opponent's forearms. Another thin, bleeding cut was opened in the Shadow Hunter's hide as his own knife connected with his upper arm. The pain stung, but it gave him time to push Garot'jin away. A hesitant, almost reluctant wrestling match ensued as they alternated between charging and back pedaling, beating circles next to the ledge and teasing the crockolisks with a potential meal were either of them to fall.

"How ya tink dis gonna end, huh?" Garot'jin bellowed menacingly as he circled Khujand. The circle turned into a squiggly, uneven shape as Khujand constantly pressed him back, never ceasing the attempts to grab his wrist. "Ya got no weapons! Ya got no mana! Ya go nothin'!" Garot'jin charged, swiping the knife in two big arcs every second and never seeming to tire.

Khujand was weary and hurt, fighting at as big a disadvantage as he could remember. Dragging things out would serve no purpose, he knew, and the others were likely still rounding up, restraining and cleansing their young people while Garot'jin was trying to escape. He was on his own.

"One way or another…" Khujand rasped knowingly between panting breaths. "…Garot'jin's gonna meet his end tanight."

With a final lunge, the fading Shadow Hunter leapt forward and swung. Garot'jin brought the combat knife down at the same time, stabbing into Khujand's arm again at the same time that Khujand throat jabbed the crazed drug dealer. Garot'jin reeled as he choked on his own blood, the force of the punch against his esophagus causing his right eye to tear as he stumbled backward. Reaching forward with his hands, Khujand tried to clasp the back of Garot'jin's neck and pull him into a wrestling hold in preparation for using his knees like battering rams against the drug dealer's ribcage.

Khujand failed to see Garot'jin's ashy, crusty neck flex as hie lulled back his head and then swung forward.

"Gah!" Khujand grunted as Garot'jin gored him in the shoulder with that one remaining tusk, piercing all the way into the meat. The tusk pushed past his muscle and into the bone, fraturing it for sure and embedding itself immovably.

Using his single tusk like a hook, Garot'jin stood up straight and grabbed Khujand around the waist as he lifted, tossing the Shadow Hunter in the air and slamming him down back-first onto a jutting rock near the edge of the short cliff. Although Garot'jin lost his footing as well, he quickly pulled his tusk out of Khujand's dismantled shoulder and crawled to his own hands and knees. The crocolisks below flew into a frenzy induced by their own pheremones in the air, the shininess of the thousand gold pieces and the smell of the two Darkspear tribesmen's blood.

The ashy kingpin jumped on top of the downed do-gooder. "Ya shoulda walkt away!" Garot'jin screamed as he slammed his forearm down onto Khujand's chest, pinning the fallen hero in place.

The combat knife was raised in Garot'jin's free hand as Khujand's failure revealed itself in full, crushing his fighting spirit. Garot'jin would kill him, escape to restart his venomous operation elsewhere and eventually threaten Zulwatha, the kids and now even Cecilia again. So much effort, and all for naught; his only success was putting more people in harm's way.

A light shone, though it was neither the heat lightning nor the gleam from the knife.

"Hhhrrrrrrnnn fuck fuck fuck shit!" screeched Garot'jin with that grating high-pitched angry voice as he arched his back and gimaced in pain.

The combat knife slipped from his hands and fell down among the crocolisks, lost to them both as half the drug dealer's body felt like it went limp. Khujand braced himself against the rock, realizing that he wouldn't have had enough energy to fight for the knife anyway.

Garot'jin struggled surprisingly little as Khujand shoved him off, the kingpin who thought he was untouchable now a bleeding, twitching mess thrashing in the dirt, unknown and unmourned as his life slowly slipped away on the forgotten banks of a brackish inlet. Sticking up from the cracked, peeling hide of Garot'jin's back was a single arrow embedded almost directly inside his spine, perhaps half a foot deep into the cracked trollflesh. Had the shot been even half an inch to one side, it wouldn't have had the paralyzingly effect that it did. The suddenly fallen kingpin's legs twitched and then laid motionless as though he had no sensation in them.

Fighting up to his feet, Khujand put pressure on the gaping wound in his shoulder as he scanned the area. Only the two jungle trolls appeared to be there at all, though the terrain was too uneven for someone particularly far away to have shot the arrow. They must have crept right upon the scuffle.

A light shone again. Flickering, unstable and weak, the image of the bushes in front of his wavered until a transparent being came into view. She was tired and beaten like him, a fresh but no longer bleeding cut showing through her mangled plate armor as she sat on her knees. A crude bow was in her firm, unshaking hands, though it rocked slowly along with her heavy, panting breaths. Her long ears perked up and down as beads of sweat ran from her scalp down the sides of her head, matting down her dark azure ponytail that had grey roots. Her features were elven, though her eyes only cast a weak, dim glow, just barely enough to reveal the very clearly trollish war paint on her face. Her lip quivered with anger as she glared at Garot'jin, not noticing as Khujand grasped her by the arms to help her stand up.

Wife and husband both shared the same shaken look of two people who had just seen their lives flash before them, clinging to each other tightly as they found neither the words nor a need for them. In the darkness of night with only flashes of lightning in the clouds to illuminate the pair, Cecilia and Khujand stared into each others' eyes the way they did a year and a half ago, so much shared between them with a single look. Relief dominated their emotions as the two of them tried to calm down, both having been so close to losing a love unlike either of them would ever feel.

Not wanting to make the mistake of many an adventurer and drop their guard when the bad guy still breathed, they supported and each other and hobbled over to the source of so many people's pain.

Garot'jin didn't even bother rising for a final futile blow. His legs had stopped twitching entirely and he already stank of a released bladder, Cecilia's mark on his spine having been true. He propped himself up with his single, half functioning arm, not even bothering to defend himself. Recalcitrant to the very end he refused to show any remorse or even hope for mercy.

"Ya lab got smashed up," Khujand growled with more malice than mockery. "Ya henchmen got ganked. Ya whole drug ring got busted. Ya plans got foiled. And now tha hunters ya were abusin' are gonna move on, tha region is gonna be free of ya poison, my kids are goin' home and ya gonna die alone."

Simple and perhaps petty, but very true words. Garot'jin spat up some of his own blood and gulped as he swallowed even more, a quake erupting across his bony shoulders. At first, it looked as though he were weeping in regret, though knowing his nature such a thing would be impossible. The quaking increased until a sound finally escaped his chapped, oozing mouth.

The writhing of the spawning crocolisks was drowned out by a cackle. Unsettling, maniacal laughter filled the air as the defeated death merchant appeared undaunted and unrepentant, hacking up blood as his laughs echoed down the short cliff. A pure, honest victory showed itself in his vile smile, adding to the mockery and spite as Garot'jin voiced his amusement at the suggestion that he'd somehow lost.

"Ya ain't got no kids, mon," snickered Garot'jin in a childish, mocking tone that would even make a world-detached monk want to punch him in the face. "Dose two brats ain't ya's."

Khujand stiffened as Cecilia clung to him a bit more tightly, the both of them waiting for the madman to explain what he meant.

"I be Groty now, not ya," the drug dealer wheezingly laughed. "Dey meh kids, and dey know I tried ta killem. Dey daddy a sick sonufabitch, an' ya nottin but some wanderer dey gonna foget about in a year." With a final evil grin, Garot'jin looked up at them, returning the look of pure hate Cecilia had shot him back at the couple tenfold. "Dey ain't nevah gonna be ya kids."

With his head turned in the same position to face them, Garot'jin's life faded from his eyes. Foregoing even the last rites his people reserved for their fallen enemies, Khujand stomped on the corpse's chest and skidded it off the short cliff into the inlet below. The frenzied crocolisks set upon the body with gusto, tearing it apart and swallowing chunks, ensuring that Garot'jin, the outcast terror, had truly met his end.

With a sense of foreboding in his chest, the bleeding jungle troll walked with his night elf wife back up the mountain pass, knowing it was time to help the other heroes on their way and face the former family that could never be his.

* * *

Cecilia surveyed the remains of the open air drug lab. The tables and shipping crates had all been smashed and the contents poured into the dirt; burning the drugs would risk both explosion and mass intoxication. Most of the debris had already been swept away and the stolen money and goods formerly possessed by Garot'jin had been apportioned like the spoils of war. The food and household items were bequethed, at Jhash's insistence, to the troll hunter families of the impoverished hamlet; while their isolation meant they had little use for cash, their lifestyle called for the copious amounts of tools, rope and plywood scattered in the drug lab's makeshift storage area.

The bodies of the dead henchmen had been laid out head to toe at one end of open expanse on the small mountaintop, not worth the effort of burial but not demanding any exceptional disrespect either.

The elf warrior and her troll husband and missed much of the aftermath during the chase and confrontation with Garot'jin and the limping hike back. To her surprise, every one of the Darkspear youths had not only been cleansed by Kinjara already but also seemed mostly coherent, with a large group of peers fawning over the young female whom Cecilia had hamstrung with an arrow.

There was jammering in several different languages, though no translation would have been needed for the display of emotion among the throngs of tired, battered people post-battle.

Chanting in Taurahe could be faintly heard in one corner as the three surviving Horde soldiers knelt over a pile of rocks over soft sand that signified the third, nameless orc's grave. True to his people's customs which had spread throughout their entire faction, the funeral had been so swift that the dim-eyed night elf and short-tusked jungle troll had missed it entirely. No fanfare or great oratory was likely to have taken place, the only indication that the pile of inscriptionless stones formed a grave being the low funeral chant of the tauren brave. Jhash and Kerr knelt on either side of him, so solemn that neither of them even prayed; they just closed their eyes and appeared to reflect for a few moments, probably thinking of how all of them would end up in the same position one day, no matter what their material gain or fleeting fame in their worldly lives.

A muffled sob distracted Cecilia again as she turned to the leader of the hunters clutching a big, gangly teenager with a foot-shaped bruise on his chest. Kinjara, the cold, hard witch doctor, the determined matron who led her people in such a harsh environment, the greying fighter whose old eyes spoke of many fallen friends and loved ones…was weeping.

Though her Zandali was broken by her poor grammar and cracking voice, what she was saying would have been clear even without sound. With a sea green mane matching that of the young man who had been deputized by the kingpin, the son clung to his mother without any embarrassment typical of adolescents, sobbing just as loudly at the reunion of their two-person family.

The entire scene of reunited friends and families, now free of the outcast terror, was a reminder that even the sacrifice of the brave orc soldier, his very life, had not been in vain, and his death had been as noble as any warrior would desire.

Before she could say anything more, Cecilia was jerked to one side as Khujand stiffened suddenly, his muscles tensing as though he spied another threat. Peering up at her troll of a husband, the elf saw him absolutely paralyzed, his jaw loose as though it would slack open in shock were he not clenching it so tightly.

Three figures emerged from their hiding place among the crowd, two small people clinging to a fully grown person as they peered around and searched for a fourth.

"Papa!" cried a tall Darkspear girl in both exasperation and joy as she ran toward the group.

Cecilia looked from the girl with oddly familiar features back to Khujand, and saw his salty eyes widened with incredulity as who she deduced was his biological daughter ran in their direction…

…and passed right by as though he were invisible.

"It's okay, kids!" Taro cried right back as the girl jumped into her stepfather's arms, crying into his shoulder. "You're safe now!"

Khujand sucked in a breath through his shaking mouth as a man he'd never actually met embraced his little girl, not even noticing when Zulwatha and his biological son, both shocked into a traumatized silence, walked right by the interracial couple as well. Cecilia's eyes darted back and forth between her husband and the family that was once his but now lead by another man - a good man who was doing his best to provide a stable civilian life.

She wanted nothing more than to tell them the truth for her husband's sake. To tell them about the legal identity swap all those years before, about her husband's repentance from his crimes, about his desire - even if he never spoke of it out loud - to still be a part of the lives of his two children, about how they could all still have cordial relations.

But she couldn't. She had no right.

The details would only burden them with more unanswered questions and quash any closure they could have that would help them move on. The logical side of her wise, ancient mind knew that her husband was remaining silent for a reason: it had to be this way. They had to be free of him in order to live normal lives.

Speaking Zandali slow enough for Cecilia to understand without issue, the son - Cecilia's stepson, as she suddenly realized she was technically a _stepmother_ even though Khujand had never met the boy - turned with pained eyes to Zulwatha.

"Mama," he whimpered. "Why was birth daddy mean to us?"

Zulwatha's eyes began to tear up as she found no words to console her son from the horror they had just experienced. Her new husband patted the boy on the head as he tried and failed to find the right words to explain to a child why his own father had threatened to harm him.

Cecilia looked to Khujand in desperation as he stepped forward, his usually sleeve-worn emotions uncharacteristically repressed as his features suddenly became blank. All she could do was watch helplessly while her husband ripped his own chest open and proceeded to intentionally break his own heart into a thousand pieces.

"Ya daddy," he creaked flatly and without passion at the children who only knew him as a helpful stranger, "was an evil man who did evil things. But that don't mean ya are like him, little ones. Ya aren't like him, and he's gone forever." Khujand'a face softened for only a split second as he addressed the next sentence to both his unknowing children and his increasingly suspicious ex-wife.

"Ya **never** gonna have ta see ya daddy again. It's over now."

He stood up and pretended to lean on Cecilia for support from his injuries, though the trembling in his hands told her of the depths of the ache splitting down into his very core. Oblivious to the very end, the skinnier, more urbanized Darkspear actually shook Khujand's hand, surprising the Shadow Hunter before he could even pull away.

"Thanks for all tha help, mister!" Taro beamed as the children seemed consoled by never having to see their biological father again. All three of them were entirely unaware of who Khujand really was, and Taro thanked both him and Cecilia again before taking both children by the hand and catching up to the hunters packing the saddlebags of the raptors.

Before turning to leave, Zulwatha stood to look Khujand over one last time. Despite the territorial spike of protective jealousy at the way her husband's ex-wife looked at him, Cecilia said nothing, allowing them to share one last speechless goodbye.

The two jungle trolls stared at each other in discomfort, feelings of recognition and familiarity almost tangible in the air between them. The man born as Garot'jin but now known as Khujand stood, his mannerisms, body language, voice and sad yet intelligent eyes the same even when his appearance had changed so much over the past decade. Zulwatha peered at him not with desire so much as a painful nostalgia at what had once been so innocent and pure but was later destroyed and ripped away from them. Cecilia could not be entirely certain that Zulwatha knew this was the boy who had been her dearest friend and closest confidante, the youth she was forced into an arranged marriage with that sullied their bond, the man who caused her so much pain and embarrassment with his arrest for war crimes. But there was something there, some fleeting sort of recognition.

Lingering for one second more, Zulwatha mouthed the Zandali words for ' _thank you_ ' to Khujand before rejoining her two children, her new husband and her new life.

Kinjara rounded up all the heroes from that day once everyone was packed to leave, addressing them about the good they had done and the great evil they had ended. It wasn't so much a speech as it was a quiet few words to the tired yet triumphant crowd as they prepared to leave that godforsaken place to be forgotten by the world. Before anyone could leave, Kinjara addressed the preoccupied night elf.

"Raptors of you with travel bags of you," she said wearily. The two women both felt the need to part graciously considering all that had transpired, but both were exhausted physically and mentally. "Rider Kerr promise lodge of us not forgotten. They stay with us for some days, and mail comes to us after some days. The world remembers us."

Struggling to form coherent thoughts in her eighth language while urgently trying to get her husband away from the group, Cecilia said fewer parting words than she would have liked. "We write mail of you after some days," she panted in her even more broken Zandali. "Want see you and see other hunters after days."

For sure, a person in Kinjara's position had received many broken promises in the past. Across the language barrier, however, the sincerity of the message must have carried over. "Welcome, you," the witch doctor replied. "You one of us, now. Anytime, come." Catching Cecilia off guard, the woman with a greying mane or mostly sea green hair actually grabbed her, though this time there wasn't any strangulation involved.

Acquiescing to Kinjara's overbearing behavior, Cecilia released Khujand only for a moment to hug the witch doctor back and salute Jhash and Kerr one last time before returning to her husband and their raptors. Before the others had even left the site, the elf and the troll with matching wedding bangles mounted up and rode down the mountain path back toward the Southfury River. They were far from home, far from the sister she wasn't so sure they had the energy or emotional stability to visit and far from any other signs of civilization along their way. Sighing as she reached out and held on to her devastated husband's shoulder, the couple rode on to the river knowing they had a long remainder of the night ahead of them.

* * *

On the banks of the Southfury River, a woman and a man both with long ears led their raptors by the reins in the midday sun, making their way north on the Barrens side. They were tired and the weather was hot, but there was something else amiss.

The blue-skinned, redheaded man shuffled slowly as though he did not know or care where he was going. His head drooped down and he seemed completely unaware of his surroundings. Even from a distance, his demeanor still betrayed a deep, crushing depression and things left unsaid.

The purple-skinned, blue-haired woman spoke for the first time since the night before, no longer able to bear the heartbreaking silence of the man next to her as she affectionately ran her fingers through his mane.

He tried to respond, but couldn't force the words out and when her own face was strained with heartache, he stopped walking altogether. They embraced tightly just as he began to break, and she panicked when she realized there was nothing to be said in such a situation.

As he dropped to his knees involuntarily, she went with him, telling him he wasn't alone and never would be. Telling him it was beyond anyone's control and that he had made the best decision with the situation that had been thrust upon him. Telling him a hundred and one things neither of them would remember as desperation compelled her to frantically pick up the scattered pieces of his heart, only to find that two of them were missing.

They both fell to the soft sand of the riverbank. She held him close, pleading for him to stay with her, to stay awake, to stop bottling it in as he had done for the past twelve hours of silence. She said so many things she knew couldn't reverse what happened, unsure of what else to do as the shattered pieces kept slipping from her hands.

There the couple sat in the riverbank, a woman utterly helpless to mend the wound of the man who collapsed sobbing into her arms.

 **End of his arc.**


	15. Two Hearts Mended

**A/N: Adult situations. Sorry, they just came out in the flow of writing, I don't even know why.**

It had been two days since they'd reached the Barrens. Though they should have made more progress by then, they wove a slow, meandering path mostly in silence as their raptors trotted methodically in response to the morose atmosphere surrounding them both.

There had been some idle discussions as Cecilia and Khujand rode across the gilded sea that was the grassy plain of the northern Barrens. Her husband had become more of an outdoorsman since they had returned to Azeroth, following her lead on all their weekend camping trips out in the country. They were still functional in that sense; he followed her instructions as they foraged for more provisions, collecting wild fruit and tubers for food and herbs for the potions so many adventurers relied upon, using the slow pace to regulate their sleeping schedule back on track.

But all was not well. They rode on the main road toward the Crossroads - while it still wouldn't be safe for Cecilia to enter a strictly Horde settlement with a large amount of troops garrisoned, the Barrens was home to a multitude of races and nobody could tell them they couldn't ride on a public highway. Once there, they knew the plan - Khujand would buy and trade for more water, hard rations and travel supplies, go through the obligatory letter-writing and ask around for any news about the Alliance-Horde border to the north.

All along the way, her husband still laughed at her jokes, forced himself to smile when he looked at her and once or twice even spoke on his own. But she knew him too well - even better than he knew himself. The deep depression simmered just beneath the surface every time she caught his elusive gaze, and the way he would stare at the ground for so long when they set up camp filled her with a depression of her own: she wasn't able to help him.

They sat around the campfire and tent they had set up at an abandoned Barrens oasis in the wee hours of the morning after the second day, preparing to sleep through the second half of the night and part of the following day. Khujand had just finished washing his hands after leaving a lion pelt to dry on some tree branches, skinning being just one of many skills she had taught him. But as those two sad eyes stared into the ground again, she grimaced at the realization that their current crisis was beyond even her own experience.

Khujand had just said goodbye to his children from here to eternity, and the two youngsters didn't even know it. It was the first time he had even seen his son, and Zulwatha had always refused to tell Khujand their names. The highway robber-turned drug dealer her husband had swapped identities with, Cecilia realized, would be remembered by all as the father of those two children. Their father, as everyone believed, was a madman who threatened their lives and was hated by all, mourned by none. And Khujand, the true biological father of those kids, was thought of only as a kind stranger who wandered into their lives for a few hours and back out again just as quickly. A part of him was forever amputated, living stable lives with the woman who was his ex-wife and ex-best friend and the man who was providing a stable, conventional life for them.

They didn't need Khujand. They were better off without him. It hurt Cecilia so much to even think that about her husband, but it was the undeniable truth - and she knew he was aware, too.

She watched as he took the waterskin and offered it to her, per the usual refusing to drink first. As she looked into those loving yet sad eyes, the feelings of inferiority, worthlessness and guilt crept in.

Inferiority because deep down inside, she feared that Khujand loved his kids so much that he just might wish he had his old life back.

Worthlessness because no matter what, she was madly, obsessively head-over-heels in love with a man she feared was only hers due to circumstance.

Guilt because as torn up as her weary heart was inside, she knew he was still in mourning and feared overburdening him were she to admit her apprehension to him.

Just as her eyes strained and the muscles around her mouth began shaking, she realized he had scooted closer to where she was sitting, a look of concern on his face only increasing her guilt.

"Talk ta me," he begged quietly, running a hand over her fine hair. "Whatever ya feelin', please tell me."

Cecilia tried her best smile, though she knew her false confidence wouldn't fool him. "I feel like I should be asking that of you," she whispered. She held on to his arm as he cupped the back of her head, though not even the heat of his touch could lighten her mood this time.

"I asked ya first. Please. I never saw ya with that look."

She shook her head. As much as she wanted to pour it all out to him, to share everything as they so often did with each other, she suddenly had some sort of martyrdom complex. Cecilia had always been their rock, the pillar of support in their relationship. Of all the times when she felt she should valiantly bear the wounds for his sake, this was the most significant.

"You just saw your children, whom I know you love very much, walk away from you forever," she whispered with dejection in her voice. "I'm just so hurt to see you go through that." She avoided eye contact, but then realized that would give her away as much as her falsely confident eyes would.

Khujand snorted as he frowned. "It's more than that," he whispered back as he started to pull her closer to him. "It hurt ta say goodbye, but it hurts even more when tha person I love tha most won't open up ta me."

Ceclia's head snapped as she quickly met his gaze, his last statement sending a confoundingly mixed surge of hope and despair running through her. She wanted so badly to console him, to figuratively carry him as he often did literally for her, to be his source of solace. She was the wise old elf, supposedly with a wisdom and maturity vastly beyond his. She wasn't supposed to be the one in need of being consoled; it felt so selfish, and yet she wanted it to badly.

"I…I…swear. I swear, I will be fine," she lied, and she absolutely detested lying.

Determination shining in his sad eyes, Khujand manipulated her weakness. Sneaky perhaps, but she knew his intentions were good. "I won't be fine if ya don't talk ta me," he said, guiding her chin so she would look at him. "Talk cause I'm askin' ya ta. It's what I want."

Guilt mixed with hope for release until she felt lightheaded. Cecilia relented, feeling as though she'd die if she couldn't finally let the pain out.

"You love your kids so much," she gasped as the first sentence expended most of the air in her lungs. She tried to compose herself before continuing, fearing she would break down on him right then and there. "And you should, and you must, and it's your right, and it's your duty, and it shows me truly what a good man you are when I see the love you have for them after so much separation, after them not even knowing who you are." She paused as he motioned up and down with his fingers for her to take a breath before continuing. "And I see what a good father you were and how stable your life was before you got mixed up with that mess at Mor'shan and how you wish they could be yours again, and it's such a beautiful thing."

Khujand's face didn't move and his eyelids didn't even blink. He only looked at her expectantly, giving an encouraging nod when she hesitated.

"It's joyous and wonderful and it makes me want to be with you even more and when I even think for a fraction of one split quarter of a second about saying anything other than what a beautiful thing I think it is, I hate myself."

Khujand furrowed his brow in sympathy she felt was misplaced. "No girl, don't say hate-"

"Yes, hate!" she exclaimed a bit louder than she would have liked too. "I hate myself! I hate myself because you're going through what is an incredibly difficult time for you and I know I need to be supportive because you're in a vulnerable position and I feel so selfish because of how hurt I feel inside - ah…"

"Breathe, girl."

Cecilia inhaled deeply, though her lungs shook with the effort. She tried to collect her thoughts though the effort almost seemed to hamper her and she didn't bother.

"It's wrong to even consider feeling this way but I do and it won't go away. I'm so ancient, I'm the wiser half, I'm supposed to be the one who has all the answers and solutions and who has seen everything and knows what to do," she coughed, taking a moment to breathe again and swallow some of her own spit as her voice became shaky. "And now I feel like I have no idea what to do and I can feel my sanity slipping! I'm not supposed to be like this! I'm supposed to be stoic, the millennia old elf who's in control of her feelings and never even raises the tone of her voice, and all I can do is sit here and watch as you and I both fall apart. I'm worthless because I can't do anything about your hurt, or my hurt…I don't know what to do…"

There were no tears - Cecilia was not a crier - but she buried her head into Khujand's shoulder nonetheless, fighting to regain control of her voice and breathing again. The loss of immortality had affected the emotional stability of most Kaldorei, though not all individuals were the same. In the case of Cecilia and her sister Unelia, they were both nearly as volatile as the lesser lived races and she knew it.

"Why're ya hurt, Cici?" Khujand asked into her hair as he hugged her tight. He let her lean into him and she knew he wouldn't force her to make eye contact if she didn't want to. "Is it…oh, girl…ya think I wanna go back ta that life?"

As well as she knew him, he still knew her better than even Irien did. He hit the mark exactly and she cringed; she never feared her feelings being exposed in front of her husband, but the wound was fresh. She felt as though it were being cleaned with disinfectant, a necessary yet still painful step in healing.

"How can I not think that!" she yelped with her face buried in his shoulder. "Look at what we've gone through! We're attracted to each other because of the atrocities we both committed, the pain we both carried. How could you not wish you'd been spared the pain? That you hadn't lost the children you love and the life you once knew?" Despite her dry eyes, Cecilia's nose became congested and she sniffled to avoid letting her sinuses run down on her upper lip. "I knew absolutely no joy in my life before you came along, like so many of my kind - life was monotony. But your life was normal before you joined the Warsong Outriders…"

Cecilia stabbed herself in the heart as the words spilled forth, no longer able to be bound. "…I feel like I'm your second choice." She shut her eyes tight and let her body go limp, the feeling of inadequacy crushing her.

Khujand kissed her scalp as he rocked the both of them back and forth. As much as she loved him, he was a being just a fraction of her age with less than a fraction of her knowledge and memory of the world; he should have been wholly unable to counsel or console her, his life experience miniscule in comparison. Yet his voice, his heat, his words, his love were all so incredibly soothing to her that she acquiesed and melted, letting this man who was only twenty-eight years old - twenty-eight years versus her twelve-thousand, one-hundred and thirty-one - take the lead for once and somehow say the right thing at the right time.

"I love those children so much, and sayin' goodbye hurt like I wouldn've believed," he started in a somber tone with his chin resting on top of her head. "My life's been hard since Warsong, like ya life, too. But I don't want my old life back. Even if things had somehow worked out batween me and Thawa, and tha Loa from back in that cave said I could choose ta be back in that life, with her and our kids, or here with ya, right here, right now, I would choose ya a thousand times over."

Cecilia frowned and laughed at the same time, the wave of depression slowly subsiding at her husband's claim despite it being cheesy and somewhat cliche. "Thank you for kissing my ass when I'm feeling down," she said as she tried to take solace in his flattery, even if it sounded fanciful.

"First of all, I mean it, Cici. I absolutely would," he stated with a flat, serious tone. "I'm not sayin' it would be an easy choice cause that wouldn't be a hundred percent realistic. Yeah, I love my kids, and sometimes I think about what it would be like ta live with them. But I know they're okay now - that fella Taro, Lorthiras told me about him, and I knew some of his family from way back. My kids are well taken care of. They're gonna be fine."

"You could be the one taking care of them," Cecilia sighed, her heart wanting to believe her husband so badly but her fear and apprehension fighting it the whole way.

"Ya right, girl, ya right. I could be tha one. And maybe that life wouldn'a been so bad." Her ears drooped at his acknowledgement of what she already knew, though she waited nervously for what he would say next. "But life with ya now is greater than anythin' I could have imagined. And - ya know, for what I'm about ta say, a lotta people would hate me, tell me I'm a deadbeat, but ya tha one person I can say it ta and ya won't misunderstand me - I love my kids, but not as much as I love ya. Kids grow up and move on. That's life. That's their right. That's what we prepare them for when we raise them. Some people say tha love for a spouse is just different than tha love for a child. They're entitled ta their opinion but that isn't me. Even when ya and me have our own little troll-elf bebehs, I'll love them but not as much as I love ya. Maybe that makes me an uncarin' dad but it's how I feel."

Khujand sniffled on his own now, his eyes wet, his chest most certainly aching from so many causes - she knew him inside and out. But even when he looked like just as much of an emotional wreck as she was, she saw that smile on his face that was so warm and so true that the doubt left her when she would not have thought it possible just a moment ago. "I love ya Cici, more than I ever loved anythin' else. And ya my first choice. Always."

Cecilia's wounded heart felt a bit better despite her understanding his statement that many people would find his feelings about parenting and children inappropriate. But like he said, they're entitled to their opinion, right?

She finally turned to look at him, her elven ego needing to be stroked. "But you only love me because of the horrible experiences we shared, not because of who I am," she asked somewhat insincerely as she fished for more reassurance.

"What're ya, ignorant, girl?" Khujand asked with playful incredulity. "What is a person other than tha sum of their experiences? That isn't even rhetorical, I honestly wanna know!"

"Personality, likes, dislikes, opinions, habi-"

"Based on experiences!" he exclaimed while interrupting her. "Are ya even bein' serious now?" His ears shot up higher than that of any jungle troll or night elf normally, almost looking like those of a blood elf as he seemed legitimately shocked. Cecilia burst out laughing at the sight and the arch of his thick, hairless brow didn't help any. "Ya we both swam through a river of shit and came out clean on tha other side, that tends ta make people drawn ta one another! So what, ya gonna say 'what if' now? What if we didn't go through what we did? So why not ask what if ya Queen never messed with magic or tha Legion never invaded Azeroth or ya never got immortality ta begin with and just died eleven-thousand years before I was even born-"

"Don't say that!" she gasped.

"Why? Ya tha one talking about what-ifs, it's tha same thing. It's all pointless. This is where we are. If I could have ya, me and our weird surrogate daughter-slash-sister Irien at our house in Ratchet or my kids and Thawa in some hut in Sen'jin, alright sorry, I love my kids but I want ya more, and any other variables ya throw in with what ifs just make tha whole conversation silly anyway."

In that typically overbearing trollish way, he grasped her by both upper arms without asking permission and turned her to face him in his lap. "I love ya Cecilia Hearthglen, more than anybody I ever loved before. I love ya for who ya are and I'm with ya cause I want ta be, and I hope so much, with all my crooked heart, that ya feel tha same," he crooned as they stared right into each others' souls.

Cecilia leaned forward and nuzzled his nose with his in affirmation. She still felt sad - her emotions were so intense after the loss of immortality that they didn't come and go so easily - but her feeling of reassurance was even greater. Wanting to cheer them both up - she knew he was still hurt as well - she waggled her eyebrows rhythmically to elicit a laugh from him. "So what's number two?" she asked.

He seemed truly perplexed. "Whashyu talkin' about?"

"You started by saying _first of all_ ," she reminded him. "You didn't mention what's second of all." She continued waggling her eyebrows, behaving like someone literally one one-thousandth her age.

That mischevious grin she had grown to love so much spread across his face. "Oh…well, ya thanked me for kissin' ya ass."

Goosebumps broke out across her skin already. "Yes?" she asked, with her lips still slightly parted.

The naughtiness bounced back and forth between them infectiously as two hearts pounded against the chests struggling to contain them. Wife and husband both leaned just a little closer to each other.

"But I didn't actually kiss ya ass yet."

Cecilia yelped as Khujand swept her into his arms, then dove into the tent on her own and bent over prone, whipping her shorts and underwear off and down to her knees with a single flick of her hands.

* * *

They weren't packed and ready to move on until the early evening, their celebration of Khujand's having moved on from his leg of the trip taken a bit longer than they had first expected. They'd already spent about a week traveling on raptor since they'd left Ratchet, traversing deltas, swamps, canyons, deserts, badlands and mountains as they sought to lay the last skeleton in his closet to rest. Their previous moping through the Barrens had allowed their mounts to rest, though as late as it was they would still end up spending another night in the wilderness; they'd approach the Crossroads near midnight and with Cecilia likely unable to be granted entry and all the shops closed, they may as well have caught some shuteye - once again throwing their sleeping schedules off.

Though they could not yet see the bonfires of the Crossroads burning over the midnight horizon, the increasing number of other travelers they passed indicated that they were getting close. All of them were races of the Horde - orcs, goblins, pandaren, jungle trolls, tauren of several tribes, very few Forsaken and blood elves and one taunka, every one of them staring at the odd interracial couple. Cecilia put on her sentinel face and ignored the gawking, though Khujand - his attitude affected in an odd though not unpleasant way by the conversation with the loa he had described to her back at the cave - leaned in close to the other travelers and made it very apparent that he was staring right back. His body language and facial expressions still didn't always match the feelings Cecilia knew he was trying to express, nor were his occasionally jerky, twitching movements always appropriate for the situation; he was still her socially awkward husband, but with a marked confidence in his demeanor and lack of constant self-consciousness without reason she quickly found enjoyable.

Moving off the main road - which they both insisted on using even in front of uniformed Horde patrols given that the Barrens was their home, too - they headed north and found a thick wood within view of the Crossroads with a stagnant pool hidden in the center. The unmoving water would normally bear the risk of disease, though Khujand's cleansing spell worked better than any gnomish filter or goblin-made purifier could. Neither of them feeling tired quite yet, they took their time setting up camp after only four hours of travel and prepared for a night of twilight hunting, planning, relaxation and possibly even dancing in the water like fools with no music.

Cecilia set the raptors loose in the oasis, trusting they wouldn't stray too far. "I really do love living in this province," she cooed while patting the second raptor on the nose before it left. "It truly does have a wide array of different terrain in a single region."

Khujand reached absently for his combat knife, looking panicked for a moment until he realized it was long gone. "Uh…oh! Yeah, there honestly isn't anywhere else I'd wanna live," he answered while stretching after two days of riding. "I'm excited ta finally be seeyin' ya homeland, though. Even with Warsong, I never really saw much north of tha border."

Cecilia pondered the trip and their presence at a travel hub, deciding to both test and tease him at the same time. "You know…Irien was positive things would be safe with both the Earthen Ring and the Cenarion Circle vouching for you," she said inquiringly. "And while I don't think most people you crossed back at Mor'shan would recognize you now, there is still a lot of racism in my people's society. Some of the sentinels posted at town gates may be hostile toward you simply because of how you were born."

"We gotta go!" Khujand cried with a light tone of dismay which she found cute. "Ya haven't seen ya family for almost a decade, and now ya sister is askin' ya ta come." He snapped hid head to see her devious smirk and seemed to realize what she was doing.

"I'm just saying, we're at the literal Crossroads. This would be the right time if you want us to return to Ratchet and regroup," she said whioe feigning innocence, sticking her nose in the air and speaking with that matter-of-fact tone she never, ever showed to anyone other than their very closest friends.

"We came too far," Khujand chuckled while kindling the campfire in preparation for cooking the meat of the savannah lion they had caught the other day. "Ya know that. We finished what I had ta do and now I'm done with Durotar - for good, hopefully. Ratchet is tha home I share with ya, and since I got no past ta reach out ta and ya people are matriarchal anyway, I guess that makes Ashenvale my family homeland as well."

Cecilia's cheeks warmed up at the thought and she dragged a random log for them to sit on after checking it for bugs and snakes. "Khujand Hearthglen!" she hooted. "I love the way it sounds."

The previously married but newly christened Hearthglens pulled their map out while watching their food cook, drawing lines in the dirt as they planned the best route to see Serenity, Astranaar and any other places of interest after seeking quarter with the Laughing Sisters at Raynewood.


	16. Home Invasion

Irien sat on the red-tiled roof of Yaromira and Kiul's villa that night, her legs crossed as she shadowmelded and leaned against the chimney. She was actually quite comfortable with her new nightly duty given the amount of time she now had to work on her first story.

Her journal and pencil shadowmelded along with her, a skill she had picked up when she served in the latter centuries of the Long Vigil. Her movements were just subtle enough that neither writing instrument became opaque, one of the many skills she had picked up during her one-thousand and someodd years. Her hunting rifle, of course, was a separate issue. The angle of the roof prevented her from strapping it to her back while sitting cross legged - her writing position - and so she wrapped the strap around an unused vent pipe thing she sometimes though about shooting off just because but now found rather convenient.

Ratchet was different from other goblin towns. Despite being a busy port, the new residential areas lining the hilly coastline in the north end were mostly quiet after dark. The seedier establishments were all situated near the docks and the traveler's hostels, and given the high prices in the housing district, the bruisers took care to keep the streets safe at night for paying residents - reputation was huge when it came to attracting more potential renters or homeowners.

"Isurith watched…no…Isurith could do nothing but stand frozen, her entire being numb, as she watched her father and uncle…hmm."

Irien tapped the tip of her pencil on her pursed lips as she thought, leaving lead stains on her upper lip. She had spent days working on one scene for her first biographical story about Cecilia. This one was about when the night elf men first left the women to fend for themselves as the beginning of the Vigil and the Emerald Dream, back when Cecilia Hearthglen was still known as Isurith Swiftfoot. It occurred literally thousands of years before Irien was even born, though she took what Cecilia had told her and turned it into a narrative rather than a bland scroll.

So much of night elf history was contained in dry, passionless tomes written by various underpaid trainee priestesses who wrote with such distance and coldness that the story of one of the longest lived and perhaps most politically significant race on Azeroth actually came off as…boring. Cecilia was like most of their kind over the age of 10,000: she had lived through so much that the memories were distant and unexciting, as though the passage of time had washed away the feelings tied to the images and sounds. Those types took it for granted, Irien thought, and now that Cecilia's generation was dying of natural causes, there wasn't enough time left to record all of their first hand accounts.

It was her task, her duty, her own personal vigil to ensure that her best friend's story was told.

Well, that and guard the house from any goons Garot'jin thought he might send to follow through on his threat. It had been eight days since Cecilia and Khujand had left on a vacation only two adventurers like them could find romantic: go bust a drug ring, kill an insane outlaw kingpin and then casually go to visit her family in territory where he might be treated as a criminal simply because of his race.

Well…those two never did have a proper honeymoon. Most Kaldorei men had only returned from the Dream about ten years ago, and marriage rites and rituals were still confused and partially forgotten among Irien and Cecilia's people. Aside from the wedding bands which were actually Darkspear, the only event to mark the marriage of her two best friends was that:

Lorthiras had notarized a single parole release form for Khujand that required a witness and allowed Cecilia to sign, scrawling the word 'civil partner' beneath her signature,

They moved in to the same bedroom together in the duplex Irien shared with them once his parole was finished and they all returned to Azeroth, and

They simply told people in Ratchet that they were married like it wasn't the biggest freaking milestone in someone's life.

The couple had gotten back to work so quickly once they were in Ratchet that there wasn't even a transition period between their long distance relationship based on letters and weekend trysts on Draenor and their surprisingly stable cohabiting relationship.

It was actually quite cute to see…Irien smirked to herself while admiring the strength of the relationship. She had no interest in settling down yet herself. She was born during inmortality and as such wasn't ageing at the rate the pre-Sundering Kaldorei were; why rush into things when she had centuries left to live?

"Ohhh…" Irien groaned quietly as she once again reminded herself that she would outlive Cecilia and Khujand both by a very long time.

That was actually the main reason for her remaining single and sharing a house with them. Khujand was easier to talk about it with because he was born knowing he's live only about a hundred years or less; it wasn't so heartwrenching for a non-elf to think about. Her relationship with the couple was as odd as they were; not quite like a surrogate child, though certainly like family. They loved the duplex but were already saving to buy some of the empty land on the flat hill overlooking all of Ratchet, and those plans were made under the assumption that even after having children, the Hearthglen household would still include Irien.

"Hurry up and get pregnant, trollfucker!" Irien murmured into the Barrens wind as though it would carry her message across the plains to wherever Cecilia was.

Kids. They would outlive their parents by a very long time as well; even children who were only half-night elf tended to inherit a full, five-hundred-plus year lifespan. Checking to be sure she was alone on the rooftop, Irien let a few tears fall, knowing that nobody other than Cecilia had ever seen her cry. She'd love those kids like her own once her two best friends really were…gone. Maybe then Irien would consider getting in touch with her family and maybe even rekindling her long forgotten love life. Maybe-

Whispers.

Her long ears pricked up. Three men were speaking in hushed tones up the street that separated the Hearthglens' front yard from Yara and Kiul's backyard. Quickling stuffing the journal and pencil into her backpack, Irien shouldered her shadowmelded rifle and crept to the edge of the roof.

"The boss already died," whispered one native speaker of Orcish. "I don't see why we can't just take the money and run."

Irien's Orcish was rusty and she missed the next few sentences, but remained perched on the edge of the roof. She might not have made it through the melee drills of the academy - damn you, chronic fatigue syndrome - but her eyes and ears were unmatched. Being of average skill with a bow by elven standards meant she was still an expert by any other standards, but nobody could shoot a gun like her. Images of Vegnus, another of their beloved friends, floated through her head; she a night elf poor with a bow and he a Wildhammer dwarf who couldn't handle a rifle. He better not get himself killed while digging for gold out there in Northrend, or she would kill him.

"Check your loyalties, asshole," whispered an angry human in Orcish. "You heard what happened; they killed Groty and all the guys except one. Help me burn this place to the ground and then you can run with your share of the money."

Taking aim with her gnomish-engineered scope, Irien spied the trio from two blocks up - fairly far from their part of town considering how small the housing area of Ratchet really was for a major center of trade; most people living their were only transients or expatriates anyway. An orc and a human both wearing tattered traveler's clothes and another human dressed like a townie tried and failed to slink through the shadows as they approached the duplex. The townie was clutching a sheet of paper she surmised were directions to the house; given his choice in clothing, he could be Garot'jin's inside man.

Irien released the safety on her rifle and loosened her shoulders. Whichever human was the one so loyal to their scumbag boss would get it between the eyes. The townie would need to be kept alive for information. The orc…well, he seemed unenthused, but he had still come along in a trip to burn all that she and her best friends had worked for. Hospital, but not morgue, she decided.

"Well? Where is it?" the loyalist demanded from the townie. "We have to make this quick!"

Irien waited for them to pass by the low brick walls covered in plaster of all the neighboring houses; there was no need to splatter brains on the property of anyone else. Her index finger rested on the trigger as she tapped it with a slow rhythm. It was hard to believe that she had been doing the same while holding Khujand, the best guy friend she would ever have, hostage in Gorgrond a year and a half ago.

Shaking the memories from her head, she refocused on the task at hand. The trio were nearing the duplex now.

"Guys…" started the orc nervously. "I just wanted to say that if we don't make it-"

"Don't make it?" scoffed the loyalist human. "We're torching this place in the night and running, you fool, don't be such-"

:: _BLAM_ :: :: _BLAM_ :: :: _BLAM_ ::

The echoes rang across the residential district as Irien fired three shots in only three seconds from a hunting rifle that would have taken anyone else an entire second and a half to reload and reaim before firing in succession. The human loyalist to the scumbag kingpin doucheface drug dealer fell first as his head exploded like a melon, blood, gore and strips of flesh scattering all over the gutter as only a neck and a lower jaw remained atop his lifeless body. The orc and the other human both took shots in the buttocks; Irien knew they would start running the moment their friend's blood splashed their clothes, making an ankle shot even more unlikely. Besides, shooting someone in the ass stopped them from fleeing just as effectively. It was also hilarious.

Candles were lit in the surrounding houses as the gunshots rang and the two survivors screamed flopping into the gutter with their bleeding butt cheeks. With the elven grace of Elune herself (Irien would be sure to use that line in her journal later, even if she had to force it in unnaturally), the night elf sharpshooter dove from the top of Yaromira's three-storey villa to the garden below, passing over the high wall with a second consecutive leap. The moves would aggrivate her fatigue, but it didn't matter - Irien never squeezed the trigger until she was sure she had the single shot she needed. She was already standing over them by the time the bruisers came running.

"Bruisers! Help" cried the townie, pretending as though he was the victim. "This rabid elf is trying to burn someone's house down!" He flung an unopened canister of lighter fluid from his pocket to Irien's feet.

"I'm going to die! I'm going to die! I'm going to die!" sputtered the orc to himself repeatedly in a low voice.

Kiul emerged from the back door of the villa wearing a bathrobe and bunny slippers shaped specially for draenei hooves, looking rather disoriented. He was wielding an aged wooden cutting board like a shield as though it might actually protect him, reminding Irien once again that as large as the strapping draenei man was, a civilian is still a civilian.

He looked over his elf friend shouldering a hunting rifle and wearing a schoolchild's backpack, and then at the two bleeding men on the street. "Everyone is safe now?" he asked wearily.

"Yep."

"Do I want to know any more details than that?"

"Probably not."

"Alright then."

Kiul promptly turned around and returned to his house, Yaromira having already emerged above and leaned her elbows on the balcony of the sizeable house her position as the logistics manager for the Steamwheedle postal and shipping service in Ratchet allowed them to buy. Her expression contained a mixture of confusion, nervousness and amusement, though no surprise at all. Yaromira waved to Irien, Irien waved back, and Yaromira extinguished her arcane light spell and went back to bed.

Four night shift bruisers were already at the scene, hog tying the protesting, bleeding men without even asking questions. Irien liked to think that nothing shocked her anymore, though she couldn't help but grow wide-eyed as she saw the head officer of the bruisers on duty.

"Xyran?" she asked the decorated goblin man incredulously.

The stubbly, craggy-faced bruiser gave her a nod as he directed one of the other bruisers to go fetch a cleanup crew. "In the flesh, Miss Rainsong," he answered, one eye always seeming to hang open more than the other. "I got transferred over here just the other day. I've had it with that pirate cove."

Irien smiled warmly at the thought of the stern security officer everybody seemed to respect taking up a position in their neighborhood. "About this…" She motioned to the corpse with half a head streaming blood all over the cobblestone. "…incident."

Xyran waved his hand. "No questions asked, not for your guys' household. Just one thing…" He trailed off and rubbed his chin with an audibly scraping sound like sandpaper as he looked to the two survivors being hauled to an intersection with two more bruisers waiting. "Getting a cleanup crew out here is needed ASAP to avoid too many questions from the neighbors. Gunshots in the middle of the night are bad enough for property value; a dead guy in the gutter is over the top."

"Our safe is just inside," Irien answered knowingly. "Just give me a minute and I'll have it covered."

Xyran waited patiently as she ran into the duplex, pulled one half of the gold needed for the cleanup crew and necessary bribes from under her mattress, and the other half from Khujand's foot locker in the basement. She had copied his key to that in addition to the key to the couple's personal area upstairs (the ground floor was all shared), though this was the first time she'd used it. It felt befitting considering that, technically, the goons were trying to burn the house because they were after him, not her or Cecilia. Surely he wouldn't mind Irien rummaging through his personal storage to borrow some of his gold forever. Surely.

When she emerged from the house again, she was not so much shocked that the cleaning crew had already arrived with a wheelbarrow and some mops but that Meatball, the gnoll brawler who was also a Steamwheedle employee being juggled between various posts, was standing there in casual clothes.

"Meatball!" Irien shrieked despite the neighbors already being disturbed enough. She ran forward to ruffle the fur between the googely-eyed hyena man's ears. "What are you doing up this late?"

"SPECIAL DELIVERY," Meatball replied flatly as he tossed the sack over his shoulder to the ground between them like some holiday gift man.

Seashells, peppermint, trinkets, a paint scraper, sweet potatoes and a whole lot of scratch paper shifted around in the sack as the gnoll's grubby hands searched for something intently. Irien and Xyran both forgot the stench of the human traveler's blood as they focused on what the prize could be.

"FOUND IT!" Meatball whispered. Yes, whispered.

Irien saw the letter in his hand and accepted it from him quickly, checking the postage. "Oh…Steamwheedle doesn't ship from Razor Hill to Ratchet directly," she complained while inspecting the date. "That's why it's late. Horde mail."

"NOTHING BEATS STEAMWHEEDLE."

Xyran looked at the grinning gnoll. "What are you, a marketing exec?"

Ignoring the two short people standing in front of her, she went to work reading the letter. "This was written a week ago…but the goons here said something about Garot'shit already being dead." She furrowed her brow with concern as she scanned the bilingual letter quickly. Mouthing the words as she read, Irien tried to connect the dots. "So they left Razor Hill, killed Groty…this was a week ago, it would have taken them a few days to ride to the Crossroads…"

Xyran reached up and patted her on the arm consolingly. "Even if they got to Crossroads early, any letters they wrote wouldn't have arrived yet," he quipped. "It's nothing to worry abou-"

"SOMETHING TO WORRY ABOUT," Meatball interrupted with a cackle that only his close friends recognized as his worried voice. Xyran raised a grizzled eyebrow at first, but the grew wide eyed - one more so than the other - as he realized what the gnoll was referring to.

"The Warsong reunion…" he murmured.

Irien looked up slowly and pursed her lead-stained lips once more. The she had heard one of the local quillboar that reserved a box at the post office spreading rumors about the big meet up. "Veterns of the Warsong Outriders all converging at the Crossroads for drunken reminiscing…this weekend!" She turned to Xyran dismayed. Both she and Cecilia were many times the stone faced goblin's age, but always turned to him for advice in such situations. "Can we…no…there's no way to warn them," she sighed in regret. "They left Razor Hill and after ending Groty, they were supposed to write to me again at Raynewood. They won't be within contact again until then." Irien pouted with such sincerity that one would have thought her some naive one-hundred year old from Moonglade.

"They'll be fine, I've known Cici since before she was called Cici," Xyran reasoned with another pat to Irien's arm as he referenced Cecilia's name change. "That husband of hers should be like their sentient boarding pass through Horde territory anyway." Though Xyran's words were well-meaning, they weren't entirely comforting as the goblin only knew about Cecilia's former life; not Khujand's.

"ONLY WAITING NOW," Meatball chimed in with his 'logical' voice.

Nodding, Irien began to bid the men goodnight so she could go bury herself under the covers of her bed and bite her claw-like nails until dawn. Before she could even open her mouth, Meatball was already holding a putrid ball wrapped in a piece of thin paper with a wick sticking out.

"What is it?" Irien asked as she eyed the horrid item.

"STINK BOMB," replied the gnoll. "ALLISON IS OUT OF TOWN TONIGHT."

It only took Irien a few seconds to understand that Meatball was trying to cheer her up. Knowing that it would technically be breaking and entering, she looked to Xyran for approval. The goblin was already clearing his throat dramatically as he pretended not to understand.

"Well, you see, sometimes, I think, exactly. Guys!" he shouted at the other bruisers. "Finish up here and clock out early. I need to go stand watch outside of womanbugpig's house. Alone. With my back turned. And a clothespin over my nose."

The trio of almost good guys stepped over the puddles of blood from the trio of for sure bad guys as they made their way to Allison's apartment, stink bomb and lighter fluid at the ready. Irien couldn't help but worry about Cecilia and Khujand meeting with people whom the former fought and he worked with in the past life they had both left behind, but she knew realistically she couldn't reach them or write to them. It was all in the Goddess' hands at that point.

Though lighting a stink bomb in womanbugpig's apartment and running off snickering into the dark would at least help her stave off a night of nervous nail biting.


	17. Highway Robbery

Khujand scooped some more water into his cupped and and slurped it up, not wanting to put his lips to the young orc raider's waterskin. The two of them sat in the shade beneath a tree just next to the main watchtower of the Crossroads with two orc cartwrights off duty. The settlement was abuzz with activity as soldiers both active and retired traversed the roads, milled about the shops and filled the inns, restaurants and taverns. Khujand, for his part, was content to sit in the grass with the three orcs and the raider's wolf mount, exchanging news from the region as they shared snacks and water.

The reunion of Warsong Outriders was unofficial and thus unannounced. Only those connected to the group and the locals knew of it, and there were no decorations one would expect from such a large gathering; everybody just spread the word and showed up. Every street was covered in spilled drinks, paper garbage and dropped food and the noise was nerve wracking; the softer spoken of the two orc cartwrights, a relatively petite female who hadn't even bothered removing her work gloves, almost had to shout just to be heard.

"So the Steamwheedle Cartel has to send mail from Durotar to here first and then to Ratchet?" she asked as though it was the worst idea she had ever heard.

Khujand shook his head, but in disapproval rather than negation. "There's absolutely nothin' ta stop such a route from bein' opened," he sighed, once again embarrassed for his people when he likely didn't need to be. "Tha only reason I can think of is that my people are just bein' uncooperative again. Otherwise an overseas route from Sen'jin City or any coastal village on tha Echo Isles ta Ratchet coulda been established years ago."

The raider looked unconvinced. "I honestly doubt that," he said said in disbelief. "Politics can get in the way of business sometimes, but not goblin business. Maybe the volume of mail just isn't enough to make the route prof…hey, that lady offering a quest reward for lion skins is back!"

Remembering why he had been waiting - Khujand had seen a bulletin board post about the ridiculous reward for a very specific shade of savannah lion pelt - the jungle troll suddenly rose. Before he could even apologize for leaving so abruptly, the three orcs he had met when he accidentally slapped the raider's wolf while trying to pet it were waving him away.

"Hurry, don't worry about it!" the male cartwright chuckled.

"Come visit us at the workshop the next time you're in town," offered the female. "But go! That lady never hangs around long!"

"Got it! And I will!"

Racing off after the blood elf furrier who was herself racing, Khujand leapt around various armored and unarmored travelers across one of the four main roads of the settlement with long strides. Dodging and weaving all the irreverent visitors retelling embellished stories proved to be a task in and of itself, and by the time he reached the quaint Thalassian-style cottage, the oddly downdressed fur merchant was already halfway through the door.

"We're closed," she mumbled over her shoulder without turning back.

"Light taupe savannah lion skin with no spots!" the jungle troll slurred barely before she shut the door in his face.

The furrier turned and peeked out through the door, inspecting the skin for longer than she should have needed. Rubbing her hands together, she appeared to be interested but considering her options. Without looking up, she mumbled her offer and scrabbled for a coinpurse somewhere behind the door.

"Fifty silver."

Khujand was taken aback. "Be seeyin' ya," he grumbled while walking away.

The furrier didn't seem to understand the implication, and finished gathering the measley sum before returning to an empty doorway. It wasn't until she stuck her head outside that she saw the Shadow Hunter standing at the end of the little side street against the inner walls of the Crossroads.

She didn't even bother shutting the door as she ran after him. "Where are you going?" the furrier asked in sincere confusion. "I need that pelt!"

Cecilia had tried to teach him about haggling, and standing one's ground when the price wasn't fair. It wasn't as easy for Khujand to learn as the other skills she'd taught him such as patching up holes in his own clothing and identifying which berries are edible and which ones are poisonous. Haggling required a feel for people and their reactions.

"Well, ya offer isn't very high and I could probably get more," Khujand retorted, though with a combination of determination and sympathy that seemed odd even to him. "So if ya want this, then ya gotta pay…um…more money. If ya have more."

The furrier, seeming to have forgotten that the door to her house was open, followed the jungle troll up the narrow, well-shaded side street. "I don't have more, but you would be supporting a struggling craftswoman and contributing to the community!" There was desperation in her voice that he realized was feigned, and the little sneer at the corner of her mouth was so subtle that she must not have known she was doing it.

Chastizing himself for wanting to believe the story of the obvious wolf in sheepskin clothing, Khujand tried to be resolute. "I'm not from tha Crossroads. I'm from Ra…have a nice day, I think I see tha leatherworkers returnin' from lunch!"

"What? No, hold on!" sputtered the rare non-petite blood elf woman as he turned away. "Three gold, just take it!" She was already fiddling through her pockets when Khujand stepped back onto the side street that was covered by the awning of the local war mill on one side and the thick acacia trees interspersed between the houses of light industry workers on the other. Random almost to the point of absurdity, she didn't seem to notice a local critter sneaking in through the open door of her cottage.

"There's a muskrat runnin' inta ya house," Khujand marveled.

"What?" she shrieked, running back before they could make their exchange to peer through her door. She shrieked again and stumbled back as the critter rummaged through her waste bin. "Get rid of it! Kill it with fire!" Her eyes were filled with indignant rage as Khujand began laughing at her. "Hey! There is an animal in my house! Defend my honor!"

Khujand ambled back over to the doorway, pelt in hand. "Okay first of all, tha elf I'm married ta is the one whose honor I gotta defend," he laughed warmly despite the fuming furrier glaring between him and the muskrat. "Second of all, there are only three sources of musk on Azeroth: stags, male trolls like me, and muskrats." His tone became both more serious and respectful as he leaned in to the shrieking elf's doorway. "Ya do realize ya got nearly ten thousand gold on ya hands if ya kill this thing _without_ fire, right?"

The blood elf furrier turned her head to see the muskrat, then the jungle troll, then the muskrat, and back again as she seemed to slowly comprehend what had just scampered inside her small house. Pathetic fear turned to cold, hard calculation as the pair of fel green eyes stared right through the doorway. She grit her teeth and with an adrenaline spike that could fuel a dreadnaught, the elf who wasn't petite but was still an elf grabbed Khujand's one-hundred pound kodo femur he used as a club, gave a battle cry two octaves too deep for such a small throat and barged into her house.

"Remember the Sunweeeeeeeellllllll!"

:: _WHACK_ ::

"Hey! Hey! Hey! One time's enough, ya don't wanna damage tha pelt!"

The furrier came back out, dragging the bone club behind her with quaking arms. Khujand reached forward to accept it as she took a moment to compose herself, brushing her bangs away and breathing shakily as the adrenaline appeared to burn out as quickly as it had crashed in.

"Thank you…ahem, for…" She cleared her throat one more time before continuing. "Thank you for your decrepit blunt object."

"Uhh…ya welcome, I guess."

"And thank you for bringing me that lion pelt."

"Ya, about that-"

"Five-hundred gold."

Khujand furrowed his brow as he considered the deal and the muskrat. It didn't seem fair considering the fortune that was bleeding on her carpet thanks to his bone club. "Those critters go for a lot more than that-"

"I killed it."

The hard determination in her voice garnered some respect from the large Shadow Hunter. While he would have pressed for more, he knew he had little patience or feel for haggling, and this was obviously a rather tactful businesswoman. Were they able to work past political differences between night elves and blood elves, he could almost imagine her and Irien dominating the entire auction house that had recently been constructed in Ratchet.

"Ya know…ya did kill it with my-"

"It was in my house."

"Ya didn't know tha val-"

"That's why I'm throwing in a commission with the price of my lion pelt."

"It's still ain't technically ya-"

"Five-hundred gold."

Chuckling, Khujand handed over the pelt and waited for her to count out the money - which took quite some time and the coins had to be contained in an onion sack. Before he turned to leave, she tapped him on the shoulder and cleared her throat again. It seemed as though all the blood elves he'd met in the Barrens or Durotar experienced sinus problems from the dusty weather.

"You live in Ratchet?" she asked shyly, and Khujand got the impression that she was also a kindred spirit with poor social skills.

"Yeah, why?" he answered, feigning interest. "Ya need somethin' from there?"

"No, but…you're married to an elf?"

He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Yeah…whashyu want?"

"Are you the Darkspear married to a Kaldorei?" she seemed to ask in Thalassian. The language was close enough to Darnassian that two educated native speakers could communicate - the supposed morphological differences were exaggerated on both sides for political reasons - but Khujand wasn't a native speaker and it took him a moment to decipher her words based on context.

"Well, looks like I need ta get goin'!" he quipped in Orcish anxiously as he moved away. Standing in a city filled with proud Horde soldiers whose subfaction he abandoned was precarious enough; being outed as the husband of a night elf was downright dangerous. "Nice meetin' ya and all-"

"No wait, I'm not judging!" she exclaimed hurriedly as she began fishing for something in her pocket. "Please wait, okay?" Khujand snorted his impatience as she continued searching through all the compartments of her sheepskin jacket which was far too heavy to wear in such weather. "I know it's…here, please give your wife this!"

It was a small printed card with elven designs on it in addition to an address and contact information. Khujand examined the business card, marveling at the professionalism; paper mills were still only found in areas with libraries and booksellers, and having such a small cut of cards with glossy designs was expensive and time consuming. A business owner wouldn't give them out unless they had serious (and, hopefully, mutually beneficial) intentions.

"I always try to branch out and explore new designs, and, well…night elf style is close enough to blood elf style that it would be a smooth transition into a new line of coats, what with all the different Barrens critters." She folded her hands in front of her formally. "Diana's Designs. I understand that she wouldn't be able to gain entry to the settlement - at this time, at least - but I would appreciate it if I could drop her a line, maybe run some ideas by her for constructive criticism. There really aren't many opportunities for my kind and hers to even speak to one another."

Always sympathetic to people who had to work for a living - his family was never well off even by Darkspear standards - Khujand tucked the card carefully into his belt pouch. He didn't know much about fashion, though he assumed, given her focus on such a specific colored pelt, that her tailoring ideas were more creative than her business-naming ideas. "I'll tell her in a few," he assured the entrepreneur. "Redhead solidarity!" He thumped his fist on his chest and raised it in a Darkspear salute.

She tilted her head at him in confusion. "What?"

He snorted a self-deprecating laugh as he stepped back out into the main road. "Nothin', just a lame joke," he answered. "My wife will hear about ya plan tanight."

* * *

Even the Crossroads post office was abuzz around that early afternoon, with more Warsong veterans filtering in by the minute. Many of them were drunk by midday and most of them were ornery with chips on their shoulders fueled by secret self-consciousness. It was well known that, with Warchief Vol'jin's face-to-face pact with High Priestess Tyrande to cease lumber operations in Ashenvale in exchange for land rights in Azshara, the Outriders had fallen even further out of favor with Horde leadership. Civilians on both sides were reporting very few incidents with uniformed patrols on opposing sides, and although there wasn't open trade or cultural exchange, the warming relations didn't sit well with a fighting force whose initial mission was to violently wrest control of the virgin forest to the north from the Kaldorei.

Tempers flared and arguments broke out between Outriders, both serving and retired, and locals unhappy with the ruckus. The presence of traveling merchants crowding every inch of undeveloped space was an added annoyance, and it took Khujand twice as long to finish his letter writing. Especially when hawkers were ignoring orders from he grunts to stop selling things inside of the post office.

The brand new travel bag he bought for Cecilia sat on the floor next to him as he hunched over a graffiti-covered public desk, furiously scribbling the tale of Garot'jin's demise and their trip up until the Crossroads. As always, there were two copies of the letter - one for his lawyer and one for his best friend. The letters were written in Common and one of them was sent to an elven addressee, but being so close to Ratchet there was a Steamwheedle representative behind the counter of the post office - more of an open air tent than a proper structure - and no questions were asked.

They would be fine with all the provisions they had bought now, he wrote on both copies though moreso for Irien than the more formal Lorthiras. The compact new travel bag sported multiple compartments specially shaped for all the waterskins, potions, camping supplies, tailoring tools, hard rations, the first aid kit and various other travel and navigation items he had bought while in town, and they expected to stop at a little-known neutral hamlet run by an elderly orc couple with stables, a flight point and a waystation. From there, they could fly in to Raynewood Retreat where Cecilia would take the letters of introduction bearing seals of the Cenarion Circle and Earthen Ring requesting that Khujand be allowed safe passage through night elf territory as a neutral, non-factional troll.

After that…well, they hadn't planned out the details of what they would actually _do_ other than 'visit Cecilia's sister.' She hadn't been to her homeland for nearly a decade, was marked in front of other night elves as a former drug addict due to the fact that her eyes lost their glow, and had left a very clingy, tight-knit family on bad terms. One step at a time, he thought to himself. He'd be there for her the whole way like she was for him. They'd make it.

Just as he slipped the two letters to the Steamwheedle representative at the post…tent, he heard the heavy clopping of a tauren's hooves. The familiar feeling of a furry hand that was soft yet firm gripped his shoulder.

Spinning around, he was faced with one pissed off bovine female in a cotton jerkin. She was more than a head shorter than Khujand but didn't seem intimidated by the beefy jungle troll in the least.

"You have some nerve showing your face here!" the white-furred female fumed with a flick of her finger to Khujand's chest.

Despite having been on the outside for more than a year and a half, the woman's clear indignation easily helped Khujand slip back into prison mode. Scenarios ran through his head. Was she a former Outrider who recognized Khujand despite all the changes to his appearance, upset at the torturer who sullied their name? Had she mistaken him for someone else?

"I…am very sorry, dear," he apologized, trying to place a conciliatory hand on her shoulder. A few tauren braves began eyeing the exchange. "But I don't think I know ya."

She angrily brushed his hand off her shoulder and appeared more miffed at being touched than calmed at his polite tone. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Khujand!" The jungle troll's eyes grew wide when she said his name, and the braves began murmuring in Taurahe in a confused manner.

Khujand backed away and spied the nearest exit through the inner and then outer walls of the burgeoning city. "Look, ma'am, I don't know how ya know my name-"

"Wait, that's the guy!" one of the younger braves with a bit more swagger in his walk exclaimed as he pointed at the jungle troll slowly walking backward.

All that was clear was that Khujand needed to get out of there. More people were beginning to stare at the indignant woman staring down a rather imposing Shadow Hunter, drawing more attention from Warsong Outriders. He truly didn't recognize her and couldn't quite figure out how she thought she knew him.

"It is!" she burst out while facing the brave and pointing rudely at the jungle troll. "I'd recognize that mohawk and sharp nose from the old wanted posters anywhere!"

No, no, no, this is impossible, he thought as he turned and shoved over two of the braves roughly as he dashed for an exit. Lorthiras had worked out the identity swap all those years ago because, to a non-troll, both he and the now dead highway robber-turned-drug dealer whose place he took in prison resembled each other slightly. Panic replaced confusion as Khujand realized this woman must think he truly was the highway robber whose identity he had taken. Considering that he had spent all his years worrying about being recognized as his _real_ former identity as a torturer rather than the fake one of a robber…well, the irony was overwhelming. He bolted, knocking over more Outriders as he broke through the outer wall of the Crossroads.

The morally outraged tauren woman had already begun to round up the disgruntled braves and riders who Khujand had knocked over.

"That's the guy who robbed a wagon train that was supposed to deliver school supplies to blind children in Thunder Bluff twelve years ago!"

* * *

Cecilia took her time saddling up the raptors that morning, a sweet, soothing calmness lingering within her after the reassuring conversation (followed by a nice romp under the bedroll covers) with her husband the night before. The entire trip had been an emotional rollercoaster up until last night.

Sneaking into the Horde territorial equivalent of Teldrassil, waltzing right into a jungle troll den as though she totally wasn't a night elf wearing a sentinel's armor (she really would miss that hauberk), camping just a hundred yards from the front gate of Razor Hill, watching her husband fall during an ambush by almost four dozen drug thugs, being washed down a river for two hours while wearing metal armor and then running for one more, appealing to help from a hamlet of illiterate, uncontacted Darkspear hunters and leading an assault against a hidden drug lab in the mountains, only for both her and her husband to save each others' lives separately…yes, the past week and a half had been a wee bit stressful.

That the past day or so at the oasis had felt so relaxing was a welcome respite considering what they were about to attempt.

"Almost done," she cooed to her own raptor as she fiddled with the stirrups. The ruby red reptiles were surprisingly docile when she and Khujand handled them, despite having torn apart a few of the drug thugs roughly half a week before. Their screeches were soft and they almost seemed affectionate, following her in short circles as she cleaned up the camp.

As she looked at the oasis pool next to their tent, Cecilia couldn't help but reminisce about Gorgrond. From the very moment Khujand had first stumbled out of the wilderness disheveled and lost, she had felt no ill-will from him. Irien had behaved logically when she threatened to shoot him right then and there; he was a large stranger and obviously an experienced fighter, if exhausted and undersupplied. But as he spoke about his hatred of the Warsong Outriders stemming from his crimes with him, she saw that same sadness in his eyes they both shared then and eight years prior the night he smuggled her out of prison at the Mor'shan Rampart. It was a sadness that welled up inside them both after she stalked him over to a wellspring near their camp and watching him dancing by himself, and although she was nervous when hinting to him that she wanted to join him, a part of her felt that he was drawn to her as well.

She smiled warmly at the stagnant pool there in front of her and wished they would have time for a dance. Perhaps another time, now that the Barrens was their home. The sadness within both of them was gone; while they were both on the path to healing before, they had spoken over numerous early mornings of pillow talk that it was their love and their support that helped the both of them start to truly move on from the atrocities they had committed. They would still need time to work out all the guilt and feel they had atoned for the people they'd harmed, but the guilt was no longer accompanied by the crushing sadness. And when that sadness that had drawn them together was gone, their love still remained.

Cecilia finished folding up the tent and tucked it into the carrier bag along with the bedrolls and cooking utensils and affixed them to the saddle of her raptors. Khujand was still a great deal heavier than her even after growing leaner from their nearly weekly camping trips in the Barrens with Irien, and although the raptors were much larger than the nightsabres she was used to, his could do without the added weight.

Once the raptors were saddled up, there was nothing else to do but wait. Donning her thorium armor that was now missing a hauberk - they would have to have it repaired in Ashenvale - she went through the motions of some of her old drills from her thousands of years in the sentinel army. In the time it took her husband to return from letter-writing and supply-shopping, she tried to formulate a rough plan. She had managed to relax at the oasis, but the reality of what they were attempting was still daunting to think of.

Khujand had letters bearing the seals of two highly respected neutral factions. His appearance had changed enough over the past decade such that even some of those he had tortured might not recognize him - especially given that they had brainstormed techniques to avoid eye contact without appearing suspicious. There were many members of the Horde traveling right past even Silverwing Outriders without harassment given the smoother relations after the Siege of Orgrimmar a few years back and the cooperation between factions while fighting the forces of Gul'dan, and now that the troll druids had been working alongside their elven colleagues for at least five years, Khujand's kind wouldn't be such a strange sight due to the Darkspear emissaries vising barrow dens and even larger Kaldorei settlements.

Despite her attempts to look at the situation logically, Cecilia still felt her chest tight with apprehension. If someone thought they recognized him, they could lie just as Irien had suggested. But what if multiple people recognized him? She knew well of his desire to atone for what he had done and wouldn't deny him his attempts, but what if they were taken as insincere? The Laughing Sisters would sense the guilt within him and wouldn't grant him passage without inquiring into his past. Cecilia herself might have difficulty as she often did among her own kind. Drug addicts, both current and former, were often shunned by her society and that she was herself living with a fake identity - her name was obviously not elven - could add to the suspicion she would already arouse by being married not only to a non-elf but also a troll, her race's primitive cousins so unfairly stereotyped as savage and unpredictable.

What if…what if…what if. Cecilia sighed as she pushed the thoughts out of her head the best she could. They would reach Raynewood Retreat and figure things out from there. It wasn't more than a twelve to thirteen hour flight by hippogriff from Raynewood to Astranaar, or a whole day if they stopped - which they both would prefer. Once they had introduced themselves to Keeper Ordanus and gained the blessing of the Laughing Sisters, they would be able to slow down and take their time.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of many people on foot and lots of shouting down the road.

Flipping into sentinel mode, Cecilia remained within the thick jungle around the oasis - she was in clear view of the Crossroads in broad daylight, when she couldn't see well but could certainly be seen. Placing one of her long ears to the ground, she heard what sounded like a dozen heavy pairs of footsteps - hooves from tauren as well as feet of sizes ranging from elven to orc to troll. There was anger, drunken slurring and the familiar sound of…voodoo magic.

She knew something was wrong and sprang into action.

"Up! Let's go!" she ordered the raptors as she mounted hers and took her husband's by the reins, peeking out of the jungle.

To her surprise and dread, she could see the electric red pillar she recognized as his hex spell which he had learned to cast on multiple targets at once. The glowing column beamed up into the sky, disappearing a few yards above into the bright azure of the atmosphere that matched the color of his hide. There was no hesitating now; Cecilia emerged from the jungle and stood in the middle of the Gold Road north of the Crossroads, making herself apparent. Members of the Horde would see her, but she knew things were amiss and the two of them would need to get out of there.

Emerging from a cloud of dust was Khujand, running even faster than his two-toed feet normally carried him as he barreled straight toward her with his old and a new travel bags on his back, silently waving his arms for her to start moving without him.

Reluctantly, she trusted his judgment, and set her raptor trotting ahead while turning backward to see him. As the dust cloud settled, she could see half a dozen frogs that she surmised were once people hopping after him, followed by a few more warriors giving chase. One of them wore the banner of the Warsong Outriders on his back.

"Come on dear, I can't leave you behind again this time," Cecilia murmured anxiously as her husband's raptor trailed behind.

Just as Khujand broke ahead and approached his raptor, she could hear a visibly intoxicated tauren brave shouting in Orcish.

"That's him! That's the robber! He's with a moon elf sentinel, the traitor!"

Khujand leapt up on his raptor's saddle, garnering an irritated screech from the dinosaur as he spurred it forward to catch up with her. "Let's move, it's a Warsong Outriders reunion!"

Foregoing questions until later, Cecilia nudged her mount into full speed, resolving to figure out just what happened later on. None of the pursuers had been sober enough to remember to bring their own mounts and by the time they did, the two would be gone. Riding on into the far north of the Barrens, the long-eared couple laughed out loud to each other as they realized they had escaped yet another hazard. At their pace on two well-rested mounts, they would arrive safe and sound to the neutral traveler's waystation on their maps around nightfall.

* * *

The waystation had no name, and although it was marked on their map from the Steamwheedle post office, it wasn't acknowledged on most. Formed by a blind orc couple and their stablehands, the group of cottages and animal dwellings tucked into the mountains of the northwestern Barrens had become a haven for any travelers wishing safe passage through northern Kalimdor peacefully. They were well respected by the frequent neutral travelers between Thunderbluff and Moonglade, and the large number of adventuring guests and armed stablehands meant that conflict was unheard of.

The station was at the top of a flat mountain peak from where Ashenvale, the Barrens and Stonetalon were visible at once, the high elevation being necessary for ease of flight. By the time Cecilia and Khujand had made their way up the winding mountain path, they were both itching for some rest. Checking their raptors in with a stablehand, they were asked a sum far below the normal market rate for stabling the raptors for a minimum of two weeks with food, water and handling as well as storage for their saddlebags and paid in full as a courtesy to the kind workers.

It was inside the longhouse which the orc wife and husband running the station used as a restaurant, meeting place and rest area that Cecilia and Khujand were finally able to change out of their armor, settle in next to a fireplace with two chairs large enough to accommodate them and discuss the practical steps of their journey into her homeland.

"Oh, this is heavenly," she crooned while practically melting down into her chair. Cecilia smoothed over the sleeveless, light brown leathers that were so common among her people, relishing in the soft white linens underneath. "It was less than two weeks ago that we were back home, but I feel like I haven't traveled out of my armor for a month."

Though she would still be bringing her chest armor with her in a sealed case - a proper elven hauberk could only be repaired by a proper elven blacksmith - Cecilia had opted to leave the rest of her armor pieces, her tower shield and her moon glaive at a waystation storage unit while visiting her home territory. She had quit the Silverwing Sentinels without any written notice and was living under a different name, and while wearing sentinel-style armor in Ratchet was her personal style, to openly wear sentinel armor would be a bold claim of nearly official status in Kaldorei territory - a claim she could no longer legally back up. It was all fine for her - what would she possibly have to worry about, being a night elf in night elven territory?

Khujand was just comfortable as well. Ratchet was a multiracial neutral city, and there were certain standards of attire. While he could get away with wearing a vest in many situations, the mode of dress was still more formal than what either of them were used to - his bare chest and back would have caused as many stares as Cecilia's bared thighs and shoulders, and they both ended up covering a bit more than they would prefer when at their new home. One similarity between their two peoples was that skin wasn't shied away from, and shirtlessness was acceptable for men in both cultures. Like her, he had opted to wear much less since he would now be able to do so without earning stares, and sufficed with a loincloth like the one he wore back in Gorgrond in addition to the usual hand and footwear. Aside from the animal tooth, claw and talon necklace she had given him, his upper body was uncovered and he melted into the chair much in the same fashion she did.

"I'm worried we're gonna spend tha whole trip here," he chuckled while finishing up some goat cheese they had bought from another traveler.

There were several other people resting at the handful of chairs and couches in the longhouse, all of them quietly going over their own travel plans. The main room was silent aside from the crackling of the fire and the focused murmurs of a few other people, and it took a great deal of willpower on both of their parts not to nod off and fall asleep right there.

Cecilia watched Khujand pull out the map after they took turns nudging each other with their feet to stop falling asleep. "Slightly less than half a day's travel from here ta Raynewood Retreat," he stated clinically while tracing lines with his finger. "Slightly more than half a day from Raynewood ta Astranaar? Is that right?"

"Absolutely. You're doing quite well with the navigation."

Forcing himself to lean forward, he flashed a sly grin. "I gotta good teacher. She's hot, too." They shared a suggestive laugh and wink like a couple of teenagers before he held the map out so they could both look at it.

"My ancestral grove is called Serenity now," she explained as she pointed to a spot in south-central Ashenvale with only a dotted line as a path. "We'll fly half a day to Raynewood and may want to stay there a day or two. When the Laughing Sisters accept your request, we would be better off waiting a while as they spread the word. There are many people passing through but only a few officially received guests and the Sisters will talk. We can write to Unelia in Astranaar once we're sure the coast is clear and she'll inform the city guard as well. Serenity is closer to Raynewood so we can fly there and back in the time we wait for Unelia to send for us - it is where I spent ten thousand years of my life, after all."

"I'm honestly just as excited about that as I am ta see ya family," Khujand replied. "It could help me ta understand more about where ya comin' from."

Smiling at the thought, her focus on the plan was diverted for a moment. "At the time Uni and I left, the grove had already changed significantly. It actually became more of a town than a grove as more non-elves moved in." Cecilia paused for a moment and licked her lips, searching for the words. "I'm actually afraid of how much will have changed in the past decade given how much changed only a few months after we joined the Alliance."

Khujand let go of the map with one hand to give hers a squeeze. "Ya ancestral home may very well have changes. But…ya can still try ya best ta relive tha good memories. And, Cici, I really am lookin' forward ta it. Ya know how much I love ya stories. Now I get tha chance ta walk where tha love of my life walked, sit where she sat…even if it's changed, ya gotta go and we gotta see it."

A deep breath and moment of meditation later, and she gave him a pleading look with pursed lips that she only showed him when they were alone.

"What is it?"

She smiled even with her lips rolled inward. "Honey, listen…you know how significant this is for me."

Seeming to understand her point already, he leaned in close while nodding. "Ya were part of a race who gave up everythin' ta live in isolation, without joy, ta defend that planet by patrolin' these woods for ten thousand years. Ya never left once and now ya comin' back again after disappearin' for a decade," he whispered with an understanding tone that warmed her as much as the fireplace. "I know ya gonna get a bit emotional at times and I'd be concerned if ya didn't."

Cecilia laughed out loud and stared at her lap for a moment before turning back to him. "Just don't think I'm changing or acting weird."

"Nevah."

"And I'm not going to cry," she added with false confidence she knew he'd see through.

Khujand cupped the back of her neck and pulled her close to rest his forehead on hers. "Whatever ya say, dear."

Conflicted over whether she should hug him or box his long ears, Cecilia opted instead to show him more sights to see while finally back in her homeland. According to their gnomish mini-clock, they still had half an hour before their hippogriffs would be ready - the beasts saw better in night than in day, just like night elves. They spent the rest of their time by the fire as she excitedly drew lines on the map with her finger, showing him the various routes they could take to stop by the Kaldorei Moonwell of Return those coming back from the outside world tended to visit, and other landmarks to stop at.

 **Next up…her arc begins.**


	18. Welcome to Ashenvale

**Beginning of her arc.**

 **For atmosphere, I recommend to search YouTube for the track "Awake" from the Skyrim OST and hit play when they first land below the mountain summit.**

Khujand stared at the bizarre creature before him as he questioned whether or not he should have bought a flying mount of his own to use. Maybe something fitting for a caveman like him, like one of those flying dinosaurs from the Ungoro Crater. Pterodactyls, they call them.

 _Yeah, that would be nice_ , he thought.

Not this, though.

"Whoa, easy there," the tauren flight mistress cooed in Orcish as she rubbed between the rowdy hippogriff's antlers. The mount appeared at ease with everyone else in the area but freaked out the moment it saw the tall jungle troll ambling over to it.

The mount certainly was a strange sight to be hold, even if he'd viewed them in passing both during the Third War and on alternate Draenor. The head and wings of a bird, with an extravagant navy blue plume punctuated by spots of black and orange. Its front legs ended with talons, and aside from the glowing silver eyes and antlers, it might look like a normal bird. The rear end, however, was just over the top. The back legs had hooves like a horse, and its entire anatomical build resembled some sort of winged centaur without hands.

"Their eyes let them see better at night," Cecilia chirped happily as she patted him on the arm.

She bounded forward and hugged her hippogriff around its long neck as though they had bonded with it in the past. The animals were the preferred flying mounts of her people, and her giddiness at the entire trip was already showing in how much she doted over two animals she had never met before. Gone were the loaded questions about Khujand's comfort when traveling in territory where he may be considered an enemy. Cecilia fell into nervous habits that weren't hers in the last few minutes before their turn at the flight point, tapping her feet in the ground and shifting back and forth as she stood. Even when they went to buy pairs of special flying gloves and goggles, she forewent her normal habit of haggling and forked over the rather exorbitant price the flight mistress' assistant demanded; she was just too eager to go.

"Honey, you should hug around the hippogriff's neck like this and tell him your name," she instructed with a rushed voice. "That way they'll trust you more."

"Erm…he doesn't seem too happy with me, but I'm gonna give it a shot in a sec."

"Their eyes glow silver like a night elf's because they can see in the dark, that's why we prefer them as mounts. We can ride at night, like now."

"I thought as much."

"Khujand! When you want them to turn or change their angle, you don't need to pull in anything; just lean gently and they'll take the hint. That's why there aren't any reins."

"Right, lean but don't pull or anythin'."

"But the saddles have straps. Those are to keep you strapped on."

"Guess I better attach them ta this belt they gave me."

"Yes! That's a strap belt strap, it straps on to the strap that attaches to your belt with a belt strap!"

"Well, I'll be damned," he chorlted while covering his mouth with his hand, not wanting to ruin his wife's return to her homeland.

"Khujand! Listen! When we fly, you should follow my lead, because I've flown many times before."

"I trust in ya command."

"If we see other night elves, stay close to me and slow down. I'll do the talking, and if you move slowly then they won't attack before asking questions, not like orcs or humans."

"I got it."

"Oh! Khujand! When we start to see the greenery, there is this ledge that we stop at before we stop at the Moonwell of Return that we stop at, and we need to stop at it too. The ledge, I mean. Well, not all Kaldorei stop at the ledge, mainly the originals from Serenity and a few neighboring groves, but we need to stop at it."

"We're gonna, I promise."

"Oh! Thank you!" Cecilia flashed him another mushy, unbelievably sincere grin considering it technically wasn't his call to make and threw her arms around him. "I'm going to show you the best view of the municipality of Serenity from there, you can see for miles!"

"Aw, thanks hun," he beamed while fighting the urge to squeeze her rump as she hugged him. Since they were entering Kaldorei territory, his wife was wearing less clothing than he had grown used to seeing her in back in Ratchet, and her bouncing up and down on her toes was causing considerable difficulty in focusing.

"You're going love the view when we stop at it because stopping at it is like a taste of Raynewood province! It's the best, best introduction to the region, I swear!"

"I really am lookin' forward ta it, honey. I heard about ya culture from ya, but I haven't experienced it yet. It would be nice ta see night elf lands when I ain't fightin' against them."

"We're going to have so much fun! Khujand…ten thousand years. My past decade has been the most significant of my life, but still…ten thousand years! My heart is pounding so hard and we're not even saddled up yet!"

Even with the flight mistress impatiently checking her outdated gnomish water clock, Khujand's sense of jealousy - not for another person, but a land - blotted everything out. As much as he knew Cecilia loved him, his insecurity poked through again at the pure bliss written all over her face. She always claimed immortality numbed them and that the decade and a half since - two thirds of which she had spent outside Kalimdor - was what shaped her as a person now.

But with the inner voice that actually turned out to be a Loa now silent forever, he had no source of advice to turn to other than her, and she obviously wasn't an objective observer of her own self. What if she was so affected by flashbacks that she demanded they abandon the life they'd built and move to Ashenvale? He'd never say no and would follow her even to Hyjal, but what would their life be like? He was still a Darkspear and the racism among night elves was even stronger than the racism among humans, if less overt or loudmouthed. Ratchet was ideal because it was neutral and and racially blind; how would they live with half the people around them telling them that they shouldn't be together?

His wife's quick kiss to his cheek in public - uncharacteristic of elves, especially ones as ancient as her - pulled him halfway out of his stupor. Khujand resolved within himself to be as supportive a husband as possible so as to avoid spoiling what should be a joyous occassion for her. The real her was a sappy and clingy person in private, and logic dictated that he had nothing to fear; her reactions were normal for someone visiting a place they had spent ten millennia in and then abandoned without looking back. Her sappiness, which was still less intense than his own, would naturally show a little bit more than usual.

Again shocking him with her youthful excitement, Cecilia grabbed his hand and took the lead, guiding him over to his slightly less unruly hippogriff.

"Here, this is how you ride a real Kaldorei flying mount!" she burst out while squeezing _his_ rump as he got on, ignoring the embarrassed flight mistress' clearing of her throat.

"Thank ya dear."

"Here, let me do your straps!"

"I'm notta kid!" he laughed heartily as she swatted his hands away and buckled his riding belt onto the saddle straps.

"Just follow me and everything will be fine! We'll fly high so the hippogriffs can glide on thermals. The mountain ledge is high enough so that taking off again will be easy."

Cecilia literally bounced over to her hippogriff in front and strapped her belt to the saddle in a single, unseen movement of her hands. Although she was shaking with anticipation of her return to her roots, Khujand shook with his typical pre-flight jitters, still not having conquered his fear of heights even after having flown to see her so many times during the long distance phase of their relationship back on Draenor. The flight mistress' assistant ran to the very edge of the flat landing area of the mountain waystation's flight point, inspecting the open sky out front for any incoming flights.

"Good to go!" shouted the overly enthusiastic orc teenager as he flashed some sort of hand signal.

Both hippogriffs screeched deeply in response to the signal, scuffing the rocky area with their hooves in anticipation. Before Khujand could even shout another Darnassian prayer Cecilia had taught him, the mistress ran by and punched the big flying animals in their haunches in rapid succession, and in a single agile leap both had lifted off from the mountain into the open air.

"Yyyeeeaaaa! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!" Cecilia hooted with a pitch that could have shattered glass as the wind slammed into both of them and their mounts soared over a thermal that immediately hit them, not even flapping their wings as they reached several times the speed which any ridden ground mount would have been capable of achieving.

From the waystation, the sheer cliff face dropped hundreds of feet and the last of the Barrens hills could be seen below. The landscape slowly greened out during the first few minutes of their flight, signalling the gradual transition to Ashenvale as they saw the trees far beneath them. The sacred wood was mostly just hills like the Barrens, though a few true mountains poked through.

And on they rode. Though Cecilia's eyes had dimmed permanently, she still saw better at night than at day and Khujand's own voodoo-fueled glow provided him a rough form of nightvision as well. The goggles prevented the wind from whipping into their eyes, but it also impaired the incredible view which the jungle troll expected was laying below them, and his night elf wife seemed to lead the way based solely on memory.

For hours it went on like that, long after they had crossed the border and could see nothing but green in all directions. They rode in silence aside from the occasional screeches of the hippogriffs, and Khujand assumed that Cecilia must be in some sort of trance. He was unable to view their mechanical clock safely and failed to indulge his new obsessive habit of timekeeping, but by the time she picked up speed and began frantically pointing to a mountaintop in the distance, he assumed they had likely been flying for five hours. That would put them very close to her ancestral grove (which they couldn't safely visit yet) and almost halfway to Raynewood Retreat. They would have to loop back around and backtrack to see the Moonwell of Return she wanted to show him, but she had insisted an overview from the summit was important to experience first for a real 'taste of Ashenvale.'

He followed her lead as she slowed her mount and curved in an arc that was half a mile wide, gradually winding down toward a surprisingly flat area just beneath the mountain's summit. It took a few minutes, but eventually they both made surprisingly soft landings and he almost panicked when she flung her goggles and gloves off and ran to the edge of the cliff.

"Girl, be careful!"

"Goddess light my path! By the night, by the night, bythenight Khujand quick come!" Cecilia practically hyperventilated as she reached the edge.

It took him twice as long to dismount, as always lagging behind someone who literally had millennia of experience going through the routine motions of daily life and adventuring. He nearly fell off of the hippogriff and ended up dislodging the saddle, and she continued urging him to hurry up - which she never, ever did about any action - as he tried to calm down his once again disturbed mount. Once he strode up next to her, he understood her manic behavior.

"By tha Loa," he mumbled while gazing upon the most stunning scene of natural beauty he could imagine. Even when working at the Mor'shan Rampart, he never had the benefit of a view like this.

From that mountain summit, everywhere they turned, they saw it. North and south, east and west, over the hills and scattered through the valleys: verdant green and purple. For miles and miles beyond anything Khujand had ever seen from wyvern or zeppelin, there was nothing but the canopy of the temperate Ashenvale forest, except this time he saw it from above rather than from below. They were in an area of virgin forest that had remained unspoilt by the machinations of the Warsong clan even during the height of Garrosh Hellscream's reign, and every square inch over the dozens of square miles they could see was covered - not a spot of grass could be detected.

To describe it as breathtaking wouldn't just fail to do the scenery justice. It would almost be an insult to ascribe mortal words to something so magnificent that to even attempt to describe it felt ludicrous.

"Cici…I can't believe I ever helped tha Outriders ta defile this," he practically breathed as he instinctively switched to his now fluent Darnassian without even realizing it.

"Elune has brought you back here to make up for it, my love," Cecilia whispered, awestruck despite having been to that spot numerous times herself. "That we're here - together - is a sign. I truly believe that. We're both here to reconnect and set things right."

Observing the miles of leaves, Khujand realized that he was unable to actually see beneath the canopy; there were a few openings in the sea of leaves, but those revealed only more leaves beneath. "Are there any...like, roads here? Civilization? I know that ya people often live inside of tha trees."

"Yes, yes, there are a few villages," she replied, though her attention was split as she appeared to be searching for something. "From above, you can rarely tell with out people; our settlements blend in and any local roads will be covered. But in this area specifically...there are only five villages."

"Amazin'...I literally don't see any of them at all. They're completely hidden."

"Of course; most of our people live in villages, not cities, and most of us don't mix much even with visitors from other villages. Travel from one village to the nearest would often take half a day, for most locations at least...and...where is it...well, in this area you're looking at five villages, and though you can't see them, they can probably see us from local towers right now. And in this specific area, there's also...something...where is it..."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she wrapped hers around his waist as they spent an amount if time neither of them cared to count just trying to take the imagery in.

The silence was broken by an elated gasp and she clasped both hands to her mouth. Glancing down at her, she had that faraway look in her eyes that appeared when she was experiencing a flashback from her thousands of years on Azeroth, and he tried his best to give her the time she needed to recollect what had happened long ago.

"Look! There! It's there! It! Ohhhh…"

She stared blankly at a mountain top across the way that had a vaguely square shape on one cliff face. Vines had overrun it but by the rough design, it appeared to be an abandoned structure larger than an Orcish great hall. Three corners rimmed the outside while part of the fortress appeared to meld into the side of the mountain itself, and the eight floors of windows were all dark.

"What is-"

"That's a fortress the local authorities grew before the beginning of the Emerald Dream after the Satyr War! There aren't any small groves like ours for a very long distance, so they put one big one!" Her movements were erratic as she shifted between pointing to the fortress and grabbing his arm, nothing at all like the calm if occasionally goofy leader of their household. "The druids communed with nature itself in order to summon the right amount of stone from within the depths of the planet, and the priestesses directed wisps to shape that stone, both unconscious and conscious effort building the structure."

"Why is-"

"It fell into disrepair because the sentinels stationed there were required elsewhere and with external threats dying down between the conflicts with the satyr and the silithids, the army eventually abandoned it and allowed it to partially return to nature. Not wholly, as nature understood that its defenders might need the fortress again some day."

"Ah, I-"

"Look! Khujand! Look!"

Cecilia pointed at a wood and stone watchtower with the (now extinguished) lanterns typical of her people's architecture as she bounced on her toes again, and he wondered how he was going to focus with his night eldf wife dressed like…well, a real night elf all the time.

It reminded him of other watchtowers he had seen in pictures, though Khujand had never seen one in real life. Made from stone at the bottom, the top had an open air observation deck and was topped with a wooden roof that had the curved awning typical of her people. The tower looked similarly neglected, slowly overtaken by more vines.

"That's the tower where they would ring the bell to warn the fortress if they saw outlanders. But they never had to ring it even one time!"

"Why-"

"Look over there!" she exclaimed while pointing to a twisted, leafless tree poking up from a lower level canopy on a hill. "That's Xavimaya! She's the oldest tree here, the people at neighboring groves used to say they remember seeing her only two millennia after the Vigil started!"

"That's pretty dang-"

"Khujand listen! Do you hear it?" She cupped a hand to one of her ears and leaned forward in an exaggerated fashion.

No longer able to hold it in, he began laughing at the sudden change in her behavior. Cecilia was completely oblivious, and ducked low as she dashed back and forth over the ledge, her cupped over ear.

"Whashyu hear, girl?"

Her eyes big as saucers, she turned toward him at a snail's pace and drew near in order to share some secret of the wilds, some sort of wise proverb passed on from the ancients. Khujand slouched low to meet her gaze as his breath hitched in anticipation of whatever sort of knowledge she was about to impart upon him.

"The wind."

At first he arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish her sentence. When she only nodded slack-jawed as if to affirm that her incredible insight to the inner machincations of nature was 'the wind,' he pulled her into a bear hug and lifted her up off the ground, smooching her on the cheek as she finally seemed to understand how manic she appeared.

"I'm sorry, it's just been so long," Cecilia laughed from the bottom of her belly. "It's just been so long; the last ten felt equal to the ten thousand!"

"Ya don't gotta apologize for nothin', Cici. I'm glad that it's made ya so happy. And I can't wait ta see everythin' here…eh, once we see tha authorities at Raynewood and get permission for me ta roam."

"We will, I absolutely won't accept any other outcome from this meeting. You're not an enemy of even a member of the Horde just as I'm not a member of the Alliance. You're an individual, and one married to a local. You have a right to be here, and we're going to make the most of this trip."

They stared into each others eyes before hugging again, and she tucked the top of her head underneath his chin. The stars and the moon above bathed the vast miles of rolling hills and valleys, reflecting off the purples and greens of the canopy in a way they both knew couldn't be seen anywhere else on Azeroth. For the longest time, they just held each other and stared, and for a moment Cecilia's embrace was able to massage Khujand's brain enough for him to stop worrying about being arrested or her wanting to stay there, and they were just able to enjoy the view.

"We're finally here," she whispered with an ear to ear grin.


	19. Losing My Religion

Searching solely from memory, Cecilia guided her hippogriff back toward the south, backtracking for two hours. The trip back from the summit was twice as long as she had predicted, and she was sure Khujand tried to sneak a peek at their mechanical clock every ten minutes or so. As odd as her husband's new obsession with timekeeping seemed, it meant she didn't need to worry about the time herself. And besides, like many of the quirky troll's odd habits, she found it cute the way he would fiddle with the tiny machine in his massive hands, taking so much care not to disturb the moving parts.

It was while he was toying with the clock that she spied their destination. Barely visible, only known to those who'd either been there before or who'd been shown the way by others, but most definitely in the exact place it had been a decade ago. Not a single leaf had been disturbed.

"There! I can see the path leading from the main road!" she shouted across the wind while pointing to a small piece of moonstone pavement peeking through the canopy. "We can land there and walk the rest of the way!"

Her husband appeared nervous even through his flying goggles as his head crooked around both sides of his mount. Although he had some flight experience, it didn't compare to hers and it was mostly over rolling plains and hills, not dense forest. Cecilia slowed down and waved her arm for him to draw nearer to her as they circled.

"Hold on and follow me no matter what. The hippogriff knows what to do, just don't freak out." Her instructions were clearly heard but he only nodded and held on to the mount even tighter.

"Ground!" she ordered the hippogriff, knowing that the creatures understood Darnassian, and were actually more intelligent than a number of the so-called 'sentient' races.

Rearing back, her mount lead the way as they descended, bounding toward a break in the canopy that the less experienced wouldn't have detected. Her husband stayed silent and she prayed that he'd hang on and follow. Such dives were difficult enough even for younger night elves; for a jungle troll like him - his weight was the absolute maximum possible for the mount to carry - one false move could end with him being clotheslined by a thick branch of the purplewoods.

"Keep your head tucked behind the hippogriff's!" she directed over her shoulder. Though Cecilia knew he trusted her, she couldn't deny that her heart was thumping hard as her mount approached the canopy break covered by an overhang. For all his stature, he was more or less helpless while flying on a mount through the forest.

At the last moment, her diving mount curved to a less steep angle and she felt that familiar rush through her veins as the light, tingly feeling ran up her back. She heard her husband yelp behind her as the length of his mount's feathers brushed the leaves, signaling that they had cleared the branches successfully. The increase in air pressure and temperature as well as the lower level of light indicated that, for the first time in nearly a decade for both of them, they were nearing the floor of the Ashenvale forest.

Although the canopy enveloped them and blotted all but the tiniest glimpses of the sky, it thinned out over the road that had been naturally cleared and posed no obstacles as they continued flying for part of the way. At roughly forty feet above the ground, they had a wonderful view of the moonstone road as well as the bulging trunks of the trees to their left and right. This leg of the trip was more tranquil, as they hovered at a more even speed and the wind wasn't whipping in their ears. They traveled in silence as she led them along the path for another fifteen minutes or so.

All throughout the final descent to the Kaldorei Moonwell of Return, Cecilia tried to quell the doubt bubbling in her chest. Ashenvale was her homeland. It wasn't her home now, but these were her roots. She was a warrior of the night once; it was a life she didn't wish to return to, but she still cherished the memories and regretted nothing. They were wonderful memories and even if she had lost track of time during hte Long Vigil, she wished for those memories to return to her upon her first visit after the ten most important years of her life.

But…they didn't. She felt nothing.

She should feel something, shouldn't she? More than something. She should feel everything. For ten thousand years, she had patrolled these woods, undertaking a duty given to her people by nature itself. When she stood on that mountain summit with her husband, her heart fluttered so much upon seeing the forest for the first time, but even then it wasn't so different from when she first gazed upon Talador on that alternate version of Draenor; it was a beautiful landscape and all elves love natural beauty. But it wasn't magical like her sacred homeland should be; she could remember standing next to Irien and wondering how much more excited she would eventually feel whenever she visited home again.

And Cecilia was was excited, but not overwhelmed. She should feel beyond overwhelmed. Cecilia was a Kaldorei, a child of the stars, and she had lived from literally the early bronze age until the steam age they currently found themselves in. This experience should mean something more, something higher, something with a significance beyond a fun trip with some beautiful scenery. And yet, as she road underneath that canopy that she should have wished she could reach out and touch, Cecilia only felt a sense of disappointment at how underwhelmed she was.

"Honey, I think that's tha moonwell ya were talkin' about, right?" Khujand echoed under the leaves from behind her.

Snapping out of her stupor, she spied it ahead: the familiar moonstone ring with the curved wooden arch toward the back. Though she didn't expect the realization to hit her there - Cecilia was as about as irreligious as possible for a people as inherently religious as the night elves - it was still a welcome sight.

"Let's land here, the mounts will crowd the area unless they stay back," she said while already grounding her hippogriff. Khujand followed suit and they both took their time dismounting - he due to lack of familiarity with hippogriff anatomy and she due to her apprehension.

Eventually they helped the two mounts find a good spot in the grass to rest, in viewing distance of the moonwell. "Honey, that was an amazin' sight ta see," he beamed while searching for her hand. She slipped hers into his but kept her thumb over top as she always did, ever seeking for control as she pulled him the rest of the distance toward the well.

"There's even more than what we saw at the summit; that was just a glimpse," she said with a forced cheer in her voice that she already knew he saw through. He made nothing of it and she continued until they were standing before the sparkling, enchanted water. "There's a reason most of us consider this our homeland even though our origins date back to the time when the world was one continent, like yours. Hyjal was the base of operations from where the High Priestess directed us, and Winterspring and Stonetalon almost match this land in size, but Ashenvale is considered the heartland."

Cecilia had rarely ever left north Kalimdor until what she expected would be her final departure a decade ago, and thus rarely had a need to complete the ritual of visiting this moonwell in particular. All of those in their region knew of it, though, and it was exactly as she remembered it: circular in shape, wood that never seemed to age composing the arch, and the purest water on the planet lying motionless without even a trace of debris inside. The entire area was filled with calm and unlike the small hidden groves the numerical majority of her people once lived in, there were pleasant sources of white noise such as birds chirping and cicadas singing.

"Ya barely went ta tha outside world," her husband started with that intense curiosity about her long, long life she always found so flattering it almost made her fear becoming full of herself. "When did ya visit this place?"

"Oh…a few times during the Vigil, I guess. I honestly can't remember."

He reached forward to place a hand on the stone rim, only to pull away as though he were about to commit some grave error. She nudged him forward in indication that it was acceptable, and he peered in to see their reflections next to each other. Two tall figures with long ears and weakly glowing eyes; an evolved troll female and a primordial elf male, both similar yet different in ways that always made her smile.

"Is tha reason cause of what ya told me about tha monotony of bein' immortal?" he inquired as they continued staring. "Like, how everythin' became tha same, everybody became tha same, every day was tha same and they all sorta meld inta one big thing in ya mind?"

"Yes, there's really no more accurate way to explain it. Even having known only mortality, you can grasp the concept easily; I've known mortality and then immortality and now, thankfully, mortality again. I can tell you that it isn't really magical or special; it's just boring and soulcrushing. The Vigil was a duty, not a blessing or a reward. All the days just…I honestly can't tell the different between a ten year period in my mind and a thousand year period." She sighed in both relaxation and disappointment at how uninspiring both her twelve-thousand year life and her return to her people's holy land felt. "Aside from specific events - and real 'events' were very few, like the three wars fought on this continent and assorted random accidents - there was no way to even measure time. I remember one time visited this moonwell in a period of time after we fought the satyr and before we fought the silithids. How long after we fought the satyr? Maybe five years. Maye five hundred. Maybe five thousand. It doesn't matter. That's the clearest way I can put it: it doesn't matter at all and spending time trying to pinpoint it is both wasteful and futile."

Closing her eyes tightly in regret at how much she had just admitted to them both, she leaned over the well and exhaled deeply. There was no denying it at this point: Cecilia had expected much more. And the fact that this felt like just any other exciting trip with interesting things to see, old places to visit and wind to listen to felt like the biggest letdown of her life.

She felt her husband take her by the shoulders and pull her close to him, though she kept her eyes closed when he inspected her state. There was no precedent for how to act during such a situation and she just didn't know what to do, what to think, how to feel.

"Cici…maybe ya readin' too deep inta this," he rumbled in that soothing tone of his. "Ya looked so happy up on tha mountaintop. Maybe bein' happy for tha trip is enough. Not everythin' has ta be some huge epiphany."

"But this is different, dear. Ysera charged us with this task. We said goodbye to our families and lived lives consisting only of eating, sleeping and duty. We were machines with no sense of joy or happiness. Or even entertainment. Our culture and civilization is so amazing from the outside, so exemplary of respect, honor, responsibility, heroism…but I'm standing here, standing here at this symbol of the Long Vigil and the Sentinel Army and the Emerald Dream and immortality and the World Tree and the pact with nature and…"

Cecilia's voice trailed off and she pursed her lips before allowing any more emotion to slip out. Khujand reached around and massaged the back of her neck, neither speaking nor urging her to do so. They only waited for the wave of dismay to crash onto the shores of her mind and then settle before she finished.

"I don't feel like this was a blessing of nature. I don't feel like it was an honorable duty we accepted because night elves are just awesome dudettes that do awesome things. I feel like we were slaves. Slaves to Ysera and Cenarius and nature and the balance, used like pawns to march around the same beaten paths day in and day out. Some of the descriptions I hear other races spread about this 'hell' place they speak of sound just like what our lives were: forever forced to do the same thing over and over again.

"But I can't complain, right? Our civilization was magnificent. And immortality let me live long enough for you and I to be together, and for these past ten years, absolutely the most wonderful, beloved years of my life, to be possible. I am able to be happy now because I didn't just die a normal death of old age eleven thousand years ago. I was meant to live and die in a time when the world was more primitive, more simply, when little of note had taken place on the planet's surface. And now, because of a hellish, boring experience that I accepted at the time because none of us had any choice, I'm here. We have a life together now, with friends I value so much. So it's like, how can I even be complaining right now? Everything coming out of my mouth is shit, it's just verbal shit that doesn't make sense because I'm not used to being this emotional and…and…"

"Breathe, Cici, breathe."

"Okay…okay…"

She clasped his outstretched arms and opened her eyes again, the waves having dried up entirely. Her heart was still pounding but she felt better having emptied it out in front of him, much better than she had expected to. Two understanding eyes underneath a brow furrowed with concern and that sappy smile they shared when they were alone spread to her like a pleasant fever she was happy to catch.

"What ya said ain't shit, dear," her husband reassured her with a sincerity that made her melt only second after having been a mess of conflicting sentiment. "Ya said it yaself, it ain't hard ta grasp, and it makes logical sense - ya were all helpless while ya lives and futures were decided by a buncha strange people and dragons that made false gods of themselves."

"Yes!" Her eyes lit up in a way only he and Irien tended to see, the way she felt when someone correctly guessed the feelings she often felt guilty for feeling. "Grom Hellscream killed Cenarius…I mean, he did so much to protect the balance, but how is he a god if some dumb, pig-nosed barbarian killed him?"

"And it ain't shit when ya say ya feel weird complainin', cause ya've explained ta me and Irien and even Meatball once how much ya value this time ya got left now, and how much happier ya are with everythin' we got in Ratchet then what ya had even back in Suramar, but ya don't regret ya life in Suramar and ya don't regret tha Vigil even if ya understand that it wasn't entirely fair…Cici, that's normal life. Everybody's a big mess of contradictions, that's tha real magic of bein' alive."

Cecilia actually bit her lip to prevent her grin from looking any bigger and stupider. "It doesn't sound that nice when it's all in my head," she mumbled, her embarrassment mostly subsided but still lingering.

"Nobody likes tha way their thoughts sound when they're all pent up inside. That's why it's nice ta talk…and ta share." She couldn't help but mimick his grin once she saw where he was going. "Ya know…like when ya under tha moonlight, like this. And ya on a big trip, like this. Ya out in ta wilds, like here. And ya get tha urge ta dance…"

"We are NOT dancing in the moonwell," she laughed, though she admitted internally that the thought was mildly alluring. "I might not be practicing, but I'm not a heretic, either."

"Just kiddin' girl, don't worry," he laughed back with a glint in his eye that made her feel as though he was only half joking.

The conversation skipped a beat and she realized how relaxed she had become. They stared into each other a bit more while holding hands, and she saw his chest rumbling giddily again in reaction to her opening her mouth and pausing as she searched for the right words.

"Do you…do you regret how your tribe's fate was shaped by being oppressed?" she asked, once again trying to pry information about his people that he seemed to avoid discussing. "You were born so far north in Stranglethorn you said it was almost in Duskwood. Then you got kicked to an island. Then another island that sank. Then Durotar. Then you made decisions that brought you to me."

Khujand pursed his lips and he gazed into the shimmering light of the well as though he were deep in thought. It was a behavior usually hers alone, and her ears pricked up at the thought that for once, her husband might be the one to say something truly profound.

"Hmm…meh."

And then he just stood there, his eyes darting between her eyes and her low-cut leather top. No huge revelation or incredible insight; just her big troll of a husband thinking she couldn't notice him oggling the goods.

"Meh?"

"Meh."

"Khujand, what the hell?" she practically shrieked.

"What?" he cackled as though he were torturing her.

"I just went into this big, gushing monologue about all my hangups about where my life has taken me and when it's your turn, you say meh?"

"My age is one-five-hundredth of ya'rs, whashyu expect? I haven't been alive and doin' stuff for as long."

She tried her best to give an angry look, though it was difficult when he untucked a strand of her hair solely for the purpose of tucking it behind her ear again.

"Naw, girl, I don't regret none of it, but ta be honest I haven't had tha breadth of experience even most other people my age have. At least, not before Warsong. But if I had ta go through all that movin' across tha ocean and doin' six years hard time ta find ya again, then I don't regret a thing."

Part of being with someone so much younger because of the present they shared, and not the past, was accepting that he'd had a different view of said past, she reminded herself. They laughed a bit more and touched foreheads, and she enjoyed the last minute or so before their moment at the well passed. Just as she released his hands to turn back to the hippogriffs, she felt him take her by the arm and pull her back.

"Wheryu goin'?" he asked in confusion.

She tilted her head at him in just as much confusion as he. "Well…we finished, right? I just wanted to get that out, you know, my hangups about how I should or shouldn't feel now that I'm visiting home again."

"Naw, that isn't what I mean," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm talkin' about tha moonwell. I know ya people got elaborate rituals with these things." He turned and pointed to a small wooden bucket with a long handle tied to the well with a thin piece of rope. "Washin' ya face and ya hands has a religious significance in tha teachin's of Elune, right?"

Her eyes growing wide, Cecilia panicked slightly as she felt like a child caught stealing the pie from the windowsill. The plan had been to visit the moonwell, reminisce over what she left behind ten years ago and then move on to their more official business with the Laughing Sisters. To be faced down with the religion she had been raised with and then nearly apostated from…perhaps it shouldn't have been such a shock, but it hit her so hard and so fast that she was unable to speak for a moment. Closing her mouth tightly and looking down, she only wrought her hands together as her older sister often did when falling into one of her shy moods.

Khujand reached forward and rotated her to face him as he had earlier. "Listen, whatever ya believe, I wanna share in it too. That's part of our new life; we're far beyond tha open minded stage now." Committing an act that might offend a typical racist night elf but only made Cecilia feel more uncomfortable with _herself_ , he actually took the bucket by the handle and examined it. "Believin' in somethin' bigger than yaself and followin' a system ta stop people form stealin' and fightin' doesn't gotta be restricted by race. People make choices, like we do tagether. Donshyu wanna share this part of ya life tagether?"

Composing herself a bit better, Cecilia cleared her throat as he nudged her to the edge of the well with him. She had to avoid looking at her reflection in that pure, blessed water lest the guilt overtake her and she shut down in front of her husband.

"Honey…we don't need to do this," she started anxiously as she sought a way out with as little discussion as possible. "I don't want to push an entire belief system on to-"

"Nonsense, girl, I wanna learn tha system Elune teaches," he replied warmly. "Ya brother-in-law is a human and he learned about it. I don't gonna be as stringent with anythin' as ya say he and ya sister are, but I'd like ta believe everybody sort of worships tha same higher thing, just in different ways. This is tha way of tha most important person in my entire life and I experience it with ya." He twirled the bucket handle in his hands. "So do you scoop it straight onta ya hands like this, or scoop inta ya palms and then onta ya hands?"

Every muscle in her body tensed as she tried to control the apprehension and prevent it from boiling over. Discussing the crisis of faith she experienced upon exposure to other races and cultures in Booty Bay so many years ago was something she had simply been unable to do; even Irien had bristled at a few of Cecilia's spiritual suggestions and she ultinately decided to keep her misgivings to herself. That didn't change the fact that she wanted to discuss it.

Would it be so wrong, to say it out loud? He's her husband, she reminded herself. And he's Darkspear, not Kaldorei; he isn't an adherent and wouldn't know what is or isn't considered shocking among her people. He's the most understanding person she'd ever known, without a doubt, across her entire twelve millennia. Her body almost quaked at the thought of what she'd locked away for a long time possibly being exposed, and she knew he noticed when she felt his hand stroking her hair back.

"Hey, am I doin' anythin' wrong?" he asked shyly.

"No, not at all!" she burst out a bit louder than she had intended. He laid the little bucket back down on a small step inside the well, and his face was filled with concern. "I just…I can't do this right now. I can't…do… _this_."

"Why not?"

When she failed to control her breathing, she simply shook her head rapidly, knowing that as much as she wanted to open up about her hangups about religion as she had about her people's past duty, it wasn't time. "I don't have the right," she confessed with a shame that she felt would confound even him.

A big hand closed around her wrist like it had on a special night almost ten years ago, and he led her back toward the hippogriffs gently. "Ya don't gotta do nothin' ya aren't comfortable with, yeah? If visitin' it is enough, and ya need time before ya do…um…whatever it is ya people do, then we can come back tha next time."

Cecilia hugged herself and leaned in to him as they walked, thankful that he wasn't pushing her the way other people in her life might. Before they even reached their flying mounts, her ears pricked up again as she realized what she had just heard. "Next time?" she asked with a level of excitement that even surprised herself.

"Well, whashyu think, girl? We goin' ta Raynewood now ta seek quarter from tha Laughin' Sisters. If they really are gonna grant me passage here, ya know, recognizin' how I'm notta member of any faction and how I wanna atone for my sins, then we should be able ta visit all tha time, right?"

Laughing at the weird mood swings and fluctuating emotions she'd experienced after only seven hours or so in her homeland, she felt her back muscles loosen considerably. "I honestly didn't think…it's been hard to focus even on the here and now," she sighed with more hope than melancholy. "I'm still worried about what will happen once we arrive at Raynewood, but we have to try. And when they let us pass…I've just been gone for so long. No, wait, I mean…" She closed her eyes and laughed again, and they paused before mounting.

"I know whashyu mean, Cici," he laughed along with her. "Ya said it a hundred times: tha past ten years when ya were free from ya people's duty and curse affect ya more than tha previous ten millennia. And it probably seemed like we'd never be here," he said with a motion to the trees all around him. "But we are, this is real. We gonna go see this Oranus fella, and once we establish contacts, it's gonna be easier for me ta come with ya every time. And tha next time, we can do whatever is ta be done at this here returnin' well."

"The Kaldorei Moonwell of Return!" she corrected, her sense of shame at her laxity rationalized away with a feigned zealotry that almost made her cringe at herself. "And his name is Ordanus!"

"Right, we gonna do tha returnin' at tha Moonwell of Kaldorei," he repeated incorrectly again. "But Cici…ya gotta fill me in on what ta expect, alright?"

She crooked her head at him curiously. "Honestly, you know way more about night elves than I do about your people. You know how we react, and you know how to behave even when the belligerent ones spot you."

"Ya, but what I mean is, this is a big meetin'. A lot rides on us succeedin' in this."

They both mounted up and strapped themselves into the saddles, and the anxiety felt easier to deal with when she acknowledged its presence. "We have at least another seven hours. In fact, the moon will have set by the time we can get to Raynewood. I'll fill you in on how these meetings at the more isolated towers go."

"Isolated?" His voice sounded worried as they donned their riding gloves and goggles, and the oblivious hippogriffs were already stretching their wings to leave.

"Raynewood Retreat is the capitol of the province, but it rarely receives visitors from even other Alliance races," she explained. "It's mainly for Kaldorei, I mean ones serving in the Sentinel Army or proper druid orders, and dryads. It's very traditional, and I guess it's like that jungle troll den at the Southfury Watershed - there are certain rules to go over."

He only nodded, and she could sense the apprehension bouncing back and forth between them. As they took off, she tried to organize the thoughts in her head before giving him her explanatory speech. There would be plenty of time, and the more she went over the monologue in her head, the more relaxed she would feel when saying it out loud. And the more relaxed she would feel saying it out loud, the more relaxed her husband would be when they arrived. And the more relaxed her husband would be when they arrived, the less likely the sentinels would be to ring the alarm the moment they saw an almost nine-foot-tall troll with an obvious aura of voodoo landing on their doorstep.

She sighed as the wind whipped her face, temporarily forgetting the incredible view the rolling, forest-covered hills provided. This next meeting would feel even more tense than the den back at Southfury. Khujand was a Shadow Hunter, and regardless of his clipped tusks he held a respect among his people that allowed him to give orders even to those he didn't actually know if they were sufficiently younger than him. Cecilia, despite her age, had the dimmed eyes of an elf recovering from drug addiction, lived with a non-elven name and had no official record of service she could be proud of.

 _This is going to be a difficult meeting_ , she thought. _That's for sure_.


	20. Gimme Shelter

The moon had begun to set by the time Cecilia had finished explaining to Khujand everything she thought a visitor would need to know about the traditional meeting halls of the Kaldorei. Knowing that they wouldn't arrive at Raynewood before dawn, she had taken her time as she spoke, listening to his comments as he gradually understood all the various unwritten rules and taboos surprisingly well.

At a lower speed, they could speak to each other without necessarily shouting across the wind, and it was easier for her to speak about the aspects of her culture she felt less apprehensive about than formal dogma.

It was a lot of information to face down, even for her - all but a year and a half of the most important decade of her life had been spent outside of Kalimdor among non-elves. Even her friendship with Irien was not quite a taste of real night elf culture, as they were still outside their homeland and Irien was pretty far left on the liberal/nontraditional scale of their new, post-immortal society. Despite likely being older than the vast majority of her people, Cecilia was almost an outlander herself, relearning all the behaviors and beliefs after having put her inevitable return visit in the very back of her mind under lock and key.

Her eyes could be a big obstacle to interacting with her fellow elves. The dryads and keepers weren't judgmental - they were almost open-minded, even - but it was the other Kaldorei that could pose an issue. The fact that Cecilia's eyes did not glow would immediately strike them as bizarre, and quite a few people were aware that the loss of eye glow among elves was almost always due to drug abuse. Night elves were extremely judgmental; she knew from experience, having been intolerant even by their standards at one time. Her credibility could be shot based solely on her appearance, and in the eyes of some of the sentinels, a fallen sister could be considered worse than one of their primeval cousins like Khujand.

She didn't know rotation schedules anymore given how often they would change after her people joined the Alliance, and she couldn't count on any familiar faces there to vouch for her. Her husband's letters of introduction from two neutral organizations would have to be their ticket into night elf territory, and she would have to avoid dealing with her fellow night elves in order to use it.

The number of fellow mounted travelers they passed increased from maybe one group per hour at first to one per half hour to one every fifteen minutes or so. All of them were her kind and as she suspected, the presence of dryads and keepers helped to maintain Raynewood Retreat as a bastion of traditionalism for the Sentinel Army; there were no night elves wearing Alliance tabards or human-style clothing here.

Every one of the groups gawked as they flew by; Khujand was too tall and his mane color too different for him to pass as a Kaldorei male, even if he could conceal his four-inch clipped knubs that were once tusks by tucking his chin to his chest. While every other rider appeared shocked, none of them were hostile. Whether it was because the daytime was approaching and they knew they'd be at a disadvantage fighting while flying and in such bright light, or because Cecilia's presence made Khujand seem like a non-enemy, she did not know. Hostility was one thing that could ruin their efforts quickly. Having seen him in battle, she knew he had little to fear even from groups of antagonistic adventurers unless they were either very experienced or very numerous. There was little fear for his physical safety unless they sent an entire platoon after him, and that was unlikely because it would be a strategically poor usage of their resources anyway. The fear, however, was for her chance to finally see her home, her old friends from the grove and her family again. Raynewood was traditional, but also a military-dominated outpost. If any of the soldiers attacked her husband, he would react; if he reacted, there was a good chance that an altercation would end badly for whoever attacked him; if it ended badly for them, word would spread; if word spread, they'd both be wanted, preferably dead (her more so than him), in all her homeland until the day they died.

There had been a long silence when she confessed to him that their entire trip and any future trips rode almost entirely on this single meeting.

A group of three female druids in training who were passing in front of the odd couple almost fell off their mounts as they chatted more loudly than they realized about the 'monster' which one of their sisters was leading to the Retreat. Cecilia already had to count to ten in an attempt to calm her anger, irritated at how people who likely went through class changes - there was a significantly lower number of female druids prior to the Third War - could remain so bigoted even after having likely mixed with tauren and worgen during their training. Or maybe even druids of Khujand's kind, in the past few years at least.

He seemed to notice her irritability eating at her, and thankfully jumped in with a topic that they had, surprisingly, neglected in the past seven hours.

"I should probably wait up in tha trees with my hippogriff while ya talk to tha centau…I mean, dryads, right?"

"What? Oh, right!" she piped up after having been squinting from anger and the sun. "That druid back in Ratchet gave one letter to you and sent another here, right?"

"Yeah, tha one she sent is probably here by now. Just an introduction, so they know I'm comin' with a certain radiant night elf female," he said with a wink.

She hummed in affirmation, though it may have been too low for him to hear. "All the same, keep both letters with you and perch up high. I won't need the letters immediately, but you'll need something to keep in your possession should one of the younger sisters try to prove herself by shaking you down. I'll see if one of the dryads will take me up the tower first, and then once I'm sure they won't treat you as a threat, I'll send for you."

"And ya sure that all tha other elves gotta be there durin' tha meetin', right?" he asked worriedly.

She could already feel the cause of his worry and tried to relax them both. "You look entirely different physically, and your Darnassian has a much lighter accent than it did ten years ago," she reassured him. "Plus, you have both letters confirming the name on your current ID. And we're in a tough situation that calls for exceptional measures…if anybody thinks they recognize you from Warsong, I'll lie."

"When I go in ta meet this Ordanus fella, do I gotta tell him any details?" Khujand asked in reference to the plea they had tried to word over the long ride.

"No, leave out all that stuff we discussed earlier. Confess to being a former member of the Horde, though; our people rarely confess to anything yet think we're the only race capable of admitting fault. The irony, right? So you will need to say in general that you simply followed the factional membership that the majority of your tribe did, but focus on your renewed love of nature now. The confession coupled with the repentance will make most elves feel embarrassed to act aggressive toward you; it would make our hypocrisy be more apparent than we're used to it being." Before she could finish her next thought, the canopy parted and they could see a naturally grown moonstone road. "There! The tower!" she exclaimed with tired relief.

The canopy was lower in the area they had approached, and the tree trunks were smaller in diameter. Barracks and tents broke out from the gaps between the leaves and there was the bustle of merchants interspersed with practicing, resting and laughing soldiers of the Sentinel Army. The tower stood higher than the trees surrounding it, and from their distance she could just barely make out the figures of guards and visitors on the enormous balcony. There were some provincial outriders circling overhead, and Cecilia gave a hand signal for both of their hippogriffs to turn right.

"There'a a tree with enough spaces between branches for you to land," she directed from her rapidly descending mount while pointing. "I can already see some of the Laughing Sisters congregating near the base; I'm sure they know who we are. Wait there, but don't be shocked when some of the soldiers come to watch you as well."

"I think I'm gonna be alright, girl. You're gonna hear a lotta shoutin' if anythin' goes wrong though." His hippogriff moved to perch on one of the thick, impossibly sturdy branches and he turned back with more than a hint if concern in his eyes. "This Keeper Ordanus is forgivin' accordin' ta Irien. We gonna see ya homeland and ya family tagether."

She found the focus in her to flash him a smile as she descended right in front of the tree and the dryads, and was immediately struck by both their cheeriness and the mini-panic she saw in the eyes of the younger elves.

Before Cecilia could even dismount to greet the dryads, a four-woman contingent of sentinels flanked by a bear form druid stopped in front of her, holding a defensive formation as they watched her remove her riding gloves and goggles and, hopefully, didn't notice as she surreptitiously donned her sunglasses. The dryads weren't as reserved, and two pranced forward from the tree to play with the hippogriff.

The leader of the platoon spoke before they could begin jammering away, holding a respectful if perplexed tone from atop her nightsabre.

"Ishnu alah, sister. I am Sentinel Frostshadow, and I welcome you to Raynewood Retreat," the one who appeared to be the captain said; her tone was formal but there was a hint of discomfort as though she had been caught off guard. She looked from Cecilia to Khujand and back to Cecilia again, her expression already demanding of answers. "The one you've brought to our settlement bears no chains as a prisoner should, nor have we received word of any emissaries visiting. I believe an explanation is in order." She appeared friendly enough, but stern about the rules.

Cecilia moved to the side so that she was in earshot of the suspicious elves in front of her and the frustratingly happy dryads behind her. "This is Khujand of the Darkspear. A representative of the Cenarion Circle wrote to Keeper Ordanus seeking an audience so he may repent for his sins and seek permission to travel as a free individual after leaving the Horde."

"Oh he left the Horde that's interesting," sincerely chirped the first dryad without even pausing or punctuating her sentence. She leapt forward so fast that she bumped right into Cecilia, nearly fell over and continued moving away from the tree trunk to wave at the wary jungle troll with both arms.

"We received a letter about him coming because he's coming," beamed the second dryad. "The letter said he is coming!"

"That's a very interesting guest!" cried the third as she ran aimlessly in a circle.

The platoon captain was taken aback. "What? We never received any communication regarding a member of a Horde race posing as a-"

"He isn't posing. That man does not belong to any faction - he holds no enmity in his heart and is an ally of nature," Cecilia interrupted without pretense. She knew she was likely older than the other elves in the platoon and in a culture stratified by age, she also knew she could get away with talking over her youngers.

"My sister, you've brought a troll right in the middle of an elven-"

"I brought an individual, not a race. He thinks and makes choices independent of others of his tribe." The attention of the platoon was focused on Cecilia, which she preferred - better that they don't focus on Khujand, she thought.

"He is not one of us, and not a member of the wider Alliance, either," Sentinel Frostshadow said with a forced calm. "He has no place being here."

"He's a guest of Keeper Ordanus!" chortled who appeared to be the second dryad as she led Cecilia's hippogriff to the flight point without asking either her or the captain for permission.

"Shael'dryn, why was I not informed of this?" Frostshadow asked the dryad indignantly. "Our sister here brought a troll - that's a security risk!"

"Our contact in Ratchet insisted that he's actually a security _guest_!" the first dryad practically hummed nasally, causing Cecilia to snicker.

"Wha - security guest? That's not even a thing…hey, speak openly!" Frostshadow ordered as she saw Cecilia whispering to a gathering crowd of the Laughing Sisters.

The former sentinel turned to the current sentinel captain and moved over to her, bowing contritely. "I apologize, Sentinel Frostshadow, but I did what I found necessary to ensure my husband's safe passage through our sacred homeland." Cecilia had wanted to say more, but the gasps from the four sentinels, the yelp from the bear druid and the coos of the dryads all cut her off.

Several archers had noticed the scarlet mane up in the tree, and though they hadn't taken aim the way other Alliance races would have - patience and caution were two of her people's best qualities no matter how many hangups she had about them - they were clearly eyeballing Khujand for any hint of trouble.

"Your...husband?" Frostshadow asked in utter shock. "You married a troll?"

"I married a man," Cecilia corrected her. "He was born with a race, but that does not define him, just as being starborn doesn't define me."

"Wow, that's really philosophical!" Shael'dryn said just as the night elves cringed at Cecilia's claim of individualism.

Frostshadow appeared to be melting down as her face finally hardened, her authority challenged in front of her colleagues, but…by dryads. The creatures were ancient, intelligent, wise and…somehow airheaded as well. It was impossible to stay mad at them, and Cecilia did feel guilt at possibly demeaning the sentinel captain despite not feeling guilty about defending her husband. She leaned forward with her hands out in front in a conciliatory gesture.

"Sister Frostshadow, please. We have two neutral organizations vouching that my husband is no enemy to our people or homeland. He was once a member of the Horde, yes, but he has come here in peace, like any other factionless traveler. We only seek freedom of passage."

At least one of the archers shook her head at her sister sentinels in disapproval at the word 'Horde' and Sentinel Frostshadow's sabre growled. Cecilia was essentially asking the captain to lose stock with those under her command for the sake of a traveler, as the entire staff at the east end of the military encapment were subtly taking strategic positions as though Khujand was public enemy number one.

"May Elune be with all the children of the stars," Frostshadow stammered as though she herself was torn. "But I have not received any official communication about visits from…non-Alliance outlanders. Such an individual poses registration issues we are not currently prepared to resolve." Her tone was firm, but the look she gave Cecilia - concealed from all her fellow elves behind her - was apologetic.

The dryads, true to their unendingly excitable nature, already intervened before Cecilia had to pull any trump cards. "We've received official communication!" chirped the…well, either the fifth or the third dryad again. No matter how many millennia Cecilia had spent around them, she still experienced difficulty trying to tell them apart. "The Laughing Sister branch at Raynewood Retreat has accepted its first Darkspear guest!"

The air pressure was low, and there was not even a breeze to be heard. All the night elves in the immediate area bristled, their eyes leaving the furtive jungle troll in the tree and darting between the dryads and the platoon. The awkward tension was thick, and even one of the mounted sentinels tilted her head down and tried to hide her face with her bangs as if to escape the conversation. Frostshadow stared at the dryad blankly, attempting to compose herself.

"Did you…ahem. The Laughing Sisters accepted a missive from druids in a neutral port _without_ informing our registrar?" she asked in what sounded like the calmest voice a person who wasn't calm could force.

"Yes!" Shael'dryn beamed. Without elaborating. Or explaining. Or apologizing. The bear form druid facepawed, as if wishing he could turn invisible.

All eyes in that end of the camp were on the captain. "Do you not see how failure to report the arrival of an unregistered non-member of the Alliance puts our administration in a difficult position?" Frostshadow lectured uncomfortably.

"It wasn't a failure; we intentionally withheld the informatioooooon!" Shael'dryn practically cheered as though it was great news. "Our contact in Ratchet told us to keep it a secret so you wouldn't refuse him entry for being of a different race!"

The members of the platoon as well as the half-hexagon of archers surrounding Khujand murmured amongst themselves, and even Cecilia hadn't expected the Laughing Sisters to pull something so sneaky. Not that she minded, if it meant their plans for seeing her homeland together would come to fruition.

Sentinel Frostshadow was obviously fighting to hold her blank expression. The dryads had been the closest allies of the night elves for millennia, and contingents of them served in the Sentinel Army. Vice was not typically thought to be possible for them; they were conscious and sentient, but often appeared to lack the full extent of free will possessed by other races. That they had chosen to conceal critical information about a controversial visitor - on their own volition - was a shock to all save the nightsabres (who couldn't understand the conversation) and Khujand. Frostshadow was under pressure to accomodate their traditional allies without 'losing face,' a concept related to the ideals of all different species of elves.

She sat atop her sabre in thought for an extended period, and even the boisterous dryads seemed content to play with Cecilia's hippogriff or literally run around in circles until they received an official response. Cecilia could tell that Frostshadow was young for her rank. In such an ancient society, guessing the ages of new acquaintances is considered crucial to interaction. Frostshadow's hesitation to act once the truth had come out implied she might have been but a child at the time of the War of the Ancients, or possibly even born afterward. Gears began turning as Cecilia sought a way to both defend her husband but also preserve the dignity of the young (by night elf standards) captain who had remained surprisingly level-headed.

"Sister, we have two signed letters of introduction - from members of the Cenarion Circle and the Earthen Ring - functioning as references for my husband's efforts to preserve the balance of nature in our locale." Cecilia's voice was low and she walked closer to the mounted captain, trying to demonstrate to the others that she was addressing Frostshadow only and not the whole camp. There was no room for outside pressure. "If you could only allow me - as a free citizen of the Kaldorei - to speak to Keeper Ordanus myself, I am confident that as the highest ranking official here, he will accept both letters as a substitution for any sort of official registration in Kaldorei lands and any unpleasantries will be quickly forgotten by all."

Also young like Frostshadow but less reserved, most of the archers had leaned forward to listen in on the conversation. Three of the dryads literally cupped their hands to their ears, making no secret that they were trying to eavesdrop, but the captain seemed to relax at the opportunity to pass the responsibility upward.

"Very well then," Sentinel Frostshadow replied uneasily. Her shoulders loosened up as though she had just dropped off a heavy load. "Perhaps the Keeper can sort this out. But for the time being, your…husband must remain at his perch as a security precaution."

"And he will remain untouched while we tend to our business in the tower?" Cecilia asked a bit louder, intending the surrounding troops to hear her.

"You have my-"

"Screeech!"

Cecilia's hippogriff leapt into the air and landed on the branch of the tree just below Khujand, settling in but eyeing the archers in the area. It appeared visibly agitated as it crooked its head all around, both flying mounts causing more murmurs as it shocked the locals with their display of loyalty to the potentially dangerous outlander.

Frostshadow drew everyone's attention as she cleared her throat. "You have my word, sister. We must keep several troops here to watch him until we confirm either his free passage or ejection from our lands, but let it be known…" She turned to face her platoon, the archers and two druids who had wandered over to observe the scene. "Nobody is to approach this outlander without express instructions from either myself or Keeper Ordanus."

Several of the archers exchanged concerned looks, but they held nodded in affirmation of the captain's orders and put their bows back into their cases, kneeling as they all kept a close eye on the troll in the trees with eyes faintly glowing from voodoo. The sentinels in the platoon dismounted and stood somewhere between ease and attention, and all the dryads except Shael'dryn crowded around the tree trunk, frolicking outwardly though inwardly standing as a warning to any younger recruits who might behave rashly. Shael'dryn sprinted off toward the larger but less fortified meeting tower before sprinting back, working to contain her energy as Cecilia and Sentinel Frostshadow took their time walking on foot.

Cecilia remembered garrisoning at Raynewood Retreat during the Satyr War. It was an old outpost, but well maintained even after the assaults she heard of during the former dictator of the Horde Garrosh Hellscream's invasion. Much to Cecilia's delight, it had retained it's traditional flair: the narrow roads were made from moonstone naturally raised from the earth by blessings of Elune, and the entire camp bore elven architecture only. There was a tent that appeared to house Alliance officials - invariably either humans or dwarves and all male - that was also made of the traditional silks of Winterspring, and she couldn't see any actual Alliance troops. All around her were mostly off-duty or at ease night elf warriors, their waist-length ponytails waving ever so slightly as they walked and spoke much more softly than the non-elven races she had become used to in Ratchet, despite the whole lot of them being quite a bit taller than the goblin port's inhabitants. Cecilia was tall even by the standards of her people - taller than half of the men, perhaps - and she was used to being stared at like a giant now that she had settled into her new life. At Raynewood, however, Cecilia was simply a new individual. Of the two dozen or so people still awake that time of day, two of the women appeared nearly as weathered as her and of the half dozen male druids, half of them were silent and stoic to the point of mostly holding still. Though not as breathtaking as the natural landscape the previous night had been given her conflicting emotions about her people, it was still exhilarating to be there, and she didn't even notice her two companions staring up at her as she scanned the whole settlement grinning.

"You must really like Raynewood Retreat because you're looking at everything!" Shael'dryn chirped with a little jump as the three walked to the meeting tower.

"Yes, it's quite lovely. It's larger than before and…" Cecilia caught herself when she realized she may have hinted at her own past. They would already have to clear their minds to deal with Ordanus' reaction to Khujand's presence; she didn't need her own in the spotlight as well. "There isn't the international flavor I remember at other towns of ours. Raynewood feels very traditional."

"The historical significance of this place compels many of us to work at maintaining it's character," the sentinel captain commented as the three passed an open area where the camp's only non-druid male forged blades for glaives, spears and swords with the assistance of wisps. Cecilia admired the handiwork of authentic elven weapons before the captain's voice pulled her back to the ordeal at hand. "I'm Melyria, by the way," Sentinel Frostshadow - Melyria Frostshadow, apparently - said with a tone of voice that sounded like a question.

"Cecilia Hearthglen," the retired former sentinel replied. She could already sense the suspicion radiating from Melyria.

"That isn't your birth name, I take it?" Melyria asked.

"Of course not." Cecilia kept her lip stiff and stared straight ahead at the entrance to the tower as they approached.

Melyria took the hint and didn't press any further. Not that there would have been time to; Shael'dryn chatted about anything and everything as the three ascended the winding, naturally grown ramp that led them up the height of the tower. It was wider than Cecilia remembered, as though the druids had worked at causing the structure to literally expand. Far sturdier than anything the humans or orcs or even the dwarves could build, the Kaldorei trees doubling as towers often twisted at sharp angles but could still support great weights from the inhabitants inside. Should the need arise, they could simply bend and twist into a different shape over time to accommodate the needs of their defenders. This one had been expanded into some sort of a meeting hall, most likely at the height of interfactional tensions a few years ago when large numbers of officers would congregate hear to plan the region's defenses. By the time they had reached the top of the tower, Cecilia understood the significance of the width.

Keeper Ordanus had been a marked man during the worse periods of fighting. A son of Cenarius himself, the half-elf, half-stag loomed even larger than Cecilia at the end of the hall, always appearing ready yet calm as he received a constant stream of both official and unofficial guests. He was flanked by Laughing Sisters at the back wall with him, though it was the new contingent of defenders that needed the extra space. All along both side walls stood a dozen night elves total: six sister sentinels on the right and six brother druids on the left. Multiple assassination attempts had taken place after the demonic Shadow Council put a price on Ordanus' head, and he was guarded twenty-four hours a day.

The difficulty of the task couldn't have been more apparent. Cecilia, a former sentinel who chose to leave Kalimdor and suffered through drug addiction and a name change, was about to lead her jungle troll husband into one of the more conservative command centers of the night elves. He was once an enemy of nature who tortured captive prisoners of war for a rogue subfaction of the Horde and though his appearance had changed even more drastically than hers, she still feared that one of the troops at Raynewood may have encountered him all those years ago. The chances were low, she tried to convince herself, and even then the chances of him being recognized were even lower. She had to look on the bright side; what came next required that she stayed focused.

Shael'dryn pranced forward, reminding Cecilia of a certain draenei friend waiting for them back home, and quietly informed Ordanus of what had transpired outside when the expected guest arrived. He only nodded, and Shael'dryn returned to the two night elves standing in the middle of the hall. The quiet banter between some of the sentinels and druids tapered off as the Keeper of the Grove addressed the visitor.

"Cecilia Hearthglen, child of the stars and esteemed guest, I am Keeper Ordanus," the four-legged man started in a very noble-sounding voice. "I trust that you've been welcomed by Sentinel Frostshadow; which means, of course, that we may skip the formalities and broach the reason for your visit if you prefer."

She straightened her back as she spoke, having to again worry about her body language and posture when speaking for the first time since leaving Ashenvale. Non-elves tended to care more about what a person was actually saying, but one thing she didn't miss about her own people was their focus on how you spoke almost as much as what you spoke. "Yes, I would prefer that," she answered.

"Alright then. I am to understand that you are here with your husband, a jungle troll of the Darkspear tribe. That is the man who a member of the Cenarion Circle contacted us about. Is all of this information correct?"

"All of it," she answered, eliciting a look of slight disgust from a silver-haired sentinel to her right.

"And I am to understand that he lives with you in a neutral zone, where you both eschew relations with the Alliance and the Horde. Is that correct?"

"It is correct."

"For what purpose have you brought him here to northern Kalimdor?" Ordanus' voice betrayed no emotion, and without being able to gauge his reaction, Cecilia spoke openly. The time to plead her husband's case had arrived.

"Nearly one decade ago, I left the holy land I defended with our sisters for ten thousand years. Though I have settled into a new life, the voice of the forest calls me back almost every night. I've come to reconnect with those I have missed, and I wish for my soul mate to experience this with me, and to truly see how a civilization striving to live in tune with nature functions." The words flowed so easily from her lips that she even surprised herself; she hadn't planned it that way.

Ordanus continued to stare and she knew he was trying to process what she had said. His eventual response, in light of that, confounded her.

"Is that all?" he asked blankly. She waited for him to say more, but he held the same expression as if to emphasize the fact that he had finished.

"Yes, Keeper. That is the reason why I need my husband here with me."

Except the silver-haired sentinel who continued glaring at Cecilia from time to time, everyone else in the room retained their positions as they waited for Ordanus to react. She felt her explanation had been sufficient and the dryads had reacted so well that she had entered the tower with almost no apprehension. Yet the longer Ordanus stood there silently, the more she felt apprehension creep in.

It was only when she noticed that Shael'dryn had disappeared that Cecilia began to suspect the Keeper's silence was for a reason. When the commotion of a large group of people approached from below, she realized what it must be. Cecilia and Melyria both turned to look out the entrance and saw a scattered group of archers in front of the tower trying to calm two angry looking hippogriffs. The footsteps of someone about the same weight as one of the sabres or the bear druid caused the ramp to vibrate, and the chattering filled Cecilia with relief despite the chaotic scene below. Led by Shael'dryn and protected by a circle of Laughing Sisters, Khujand ambled up the ramp, appearing a bit overwhelmed as a group of irreverent dryads dragged him through a settlement of night elves, his former enemies, for the first time. And not just any settlement: a military camp. She waited at the top of the ramp and guided him by the wrist like a nervous child to where she had been standing, remaining out in front of him protectively.

The voodoo magic of troll mystics gave off a sympathetic vibration detectable by those attuned to life or death magic, and the six brother druids stiffened uncomfortably when the black magic-practicing Darkspear with glowing red eyes stood before them. The six sister sentinels stood at the ready should the unsettling guest make any false moves, and the silver-haired one on the end of the row actually began involuntarily wheezing through one nostril in anticipation as she breathed. Khujand also stood uncomfortably but apparently unafraid of the dozen surrounding him; after seeing how he handled literally dozens of Groty's thugs, mindslaves and rampaging centaur the other week, Cecilia knew he had little reason to be afraid physically at least, even when faced with more than one unfriendly guard. His casual nonchalance when surrounded seemed to make her fellow night elves in the room even more agitated, and she stood ill-at-ease, unsure of whether or not any of them would become jumpy.

Ordanus took a step forward, but his dryad attendants remained at the back wall of the meeting hall. "This is him, correct?" he asked, still holding the emotionless tone in his voice.

"Yes, Keeper. This is Khujand Hearthglen," Cecilia stated firmly, eliciting perplexed looks from a few of the elves at the addition of her surname to his. One of the druids actually grew wide eyed at the comment. "Ally of nature through whatever deeds he can muster big or small, and one who hopes to be a friend of our people."

Ordanus looked the jungle troll up and down, holding his internal reaction to himself. At full height, Khujand was actually a little bit larger than the Keeper who himself was the largest inhabitant of the grove, but by slouching just a wee bit, he could keep his head respectfully lower than that of their host. Without an ounce of fear, Ordanus stretched out his clawed wooden hand toward the potentially dangerous guest and folded his fingers downward, the polite elven equivalent of the way humans and orcs would beckon with a finger. "You may approach, traveler," he ordered, his tone terse though not rude. "If you bear no weapons."

Holding out his empty palms, Khujand took two steps forward toward the Keeper and there was only a few feet of space between them. The druids crouched somewhat as though they were ready to shift into their combat forms any minute and the sentinels clenched their fists, the glaives attached to their braces rotating slowly. Shael'dryn clopped up beside the jungle troll as if to signal both sides that he was to be left to speak freely and that the Laughing Sisters were still in control should he turn out to be an assassin. Cecilia knew her own people were famed for their patience, but all her fellow elves in the room seemed tense to the point of physical strain save Melyria, and she didn't know if any of them would act rashly.

Holding one hand in the air next to Khujand's face, Ordanus focused until some sort of nature spell emanated from his palm. Green swirls surrounded the troll's head and neck, and the red glow of his eyes grew more powerful in reaction to whatever the spell was seeking out. Satisfied with whatever sort of inspection he had performed, the Keeper relaxed his arm and gave his guest a very stern, though not necessarily aggressive, look.

"Why have you come here?" he asked.

"Well…my wife protected this land for thousands a years," the jungle troll started in completely fluent though slightly accented Darnassian, causing the heretofore stoic Melyria to gasp at his diction. "She wants ta get back in touch with her roots, and I wanna experience that with her, and understand what it means ta live with tha land and-"

"Sister Hearthglen has already explained that." Ordanus' response wasn't harsh in tone, but it was swift and made him appear as though he were annoyed. "We know why you have come to our land; why are you here in Raynewood?"

Cecilia noticed her husband try to crook his head back, but stopped when he likely realized he couldn't see her when he was that far ahead. She fought the urge to step forward and do the talking for him; he was going to have to negotiate this safe passage on his own, and her possessive, defensive nature around him growled inside as she restrained herself.

"Um…right. We thought that since ya're a respected figure within tha Circle that we could explain our situation ta ya, and if ya don't find me ta be a threat ta nature, ya could grant me right of entry ta night elf towns with my wife." He reached toward his belt pouch containing the two letters, but stopped when the silver-haired sentinel hissed at him audibly, as though he realized they didn't trust him not to pull a poison dart or some other devious trick. "Cause, ya know, relations between tha different factions have improved since they all worked tagether ta fight tha Iron Horde on Draenor. And I ain't even part of a faction anymore, but maybe some of tha town guards here would treat me like an enemy cause of my race."

"Have you committed any crimes against nature in the past?" Ordanus asked bluntly. Even with the Keeper's calm, almost infectiously relaxing voice, the iron in his words was apparent. This was not going as well or as quickly as Cecilia had expected.

"Well, uh…like a lotta adventurers, I did a few things I'm not proud of, unfortunately," Khujand confessed, telling the truth but not the whole truth, just as she had advised him.

"How serious were these crimes?" Ordanus pressed. He stood silently after each question, not giving the jungle troll any opportunity to squirm out of answering or change the subject.

"Well...I mean, I'm embarrassed of them, if that's what ya mean. Ashamed, even. But that's why I'm here - ta learn from ya way of life, and better understand how ta not repeat my mistakes." Noticing the regretful tone in his voice he would use when they spoke of their past crimes in private, Cecilia furrowed her brow sadly as he continued. "But I was a different person back then. I've tried my best, both here and back on Draenor, ta make amends for any wrongs I ain't righted yet. And I've done what I can for tha Cenarion Circle and tha Earthen Ring, tryin' ta reverse tha damage I did ta nature. If ya see on these two letters they sent with me-"

"You may keep them to yourself. Everything I need to know, I can ask myself," Ordanus ordered while cutting him off. "Does the damage you caused to the balance of nature have residual effects?"

"Well…I dunno, exactly. I hurt a lotta people durin' a life of crime in tha-"

"Did you take life unjustly?"

Khujand looked down to the floor for a moment, radiating shame under the Keeper's gaze. Cecilia didn't quite understand the reason why; he wouldn't need to lie. He tortured people, but part of his job was keeping them alive; perhaps there was residual guilt there, but she silently prayed that he would be able to temper his words. "Naw…I hurt people back in tha day, but I never killed anybody that didn't try ta kill me first." The silver-haired sentinel's glaive began clinking against her bracer, her fist was trembling with such rage. Some of the other elves glared at Cecilia judgmentally, looking away when she turned to see them. "But people can change," the jungle troll said with more confidence in his voice. "People can repent. That's why I came here. If I'm gonna visit my wife's homeland, and see tha other side of tha civilization I once saw as enemies, then it's as good a time as any other ta repent, and learn how I can start tryin' ta make up for all tha evil I did. I don't know exactly what I'm gonna do...whether it's just helpin' strangers in need or even tryin' ta educate myself so I can educate other people in my tribe, but I wanna find out. Cause I need ta find out first before I can-"

"So you've come to me seeking forgiveness from nature itself?" Ordanus asked with a hollow voice despite the incredulity apparent in his words. "You expect to walk into lands you once viewed as enemy territory, wave around those two pieces of paper and be treated as a guest. Have I understood what you're asking of me correctly?"

Pausing for a moment, Khujand's lungs rumbled the way they did when he felt disappointed but was working to contain himself. "Keeper, I'm only askin' that I not be hunted down like an animal. I'm askin' that it be recognized that I'm not an enemy no more, and that I wish I could even be a friend ta ya society. I spent years, so many years regrettin' tha crime I committed, even against my own people. Elune knows how much I wish I could take back what happened." The elves behind him were divided between looks of curiosity and disgust at the troll mentioning Elune's name. "I'm sorry. I ain't gonna get tired of sayin' it no matter how many times, I truly hate that I once hurt people unjustly. And if ya could only allow me ta show all tha children of tha stars that people can change, even people that once committed great evil, maybe tha different sides our races find themselves on could be that much closer ta forgivin', understandin' and then findin' peace."

The dryads appeared quite cheery but uncharacteristically quiet, and even the night elves in the room were tense, but not angry. Melyria and some of the druids actually appeared to soften up at Khujand's words, and Cecilia tried - though without success - to catch Ordanus' eye with a pleading expression that warmed Cecilia's heart despite the fact that she'd kind of sort of embarrassed the captain a few minutes ago.

"Is it forgiveness that you seek?" asked the Keeper directly though not necessarily bluntly. "Is that why you've come? Do you think I can somehow absolve you of your sins? _What specifically do you want_?"

"I'm a traveler, Keeper. I don't entirely know how ta achieve what I seek; that's why I'm tryin' ta find out. That attempt has led me across two different worlds. It led me ta find someone that once fought my side ta defend this land, and it led me ta finally understand what peace really means. Now I just wanna work toward it. I'm not askin' ya ta say I'm a good guy, or that ya know me well enough ta say I'm one of ya. I just want a chance ta try and experience ya way of life so I can try ta redeem myself."

"So you seek to prove something to our society, then?"

Frustration seeping into his demeanor, Khujand paused himself this time before continuing. "I seek ta prove ta Elune that I truly am sorry, and that I really have changed. I don't know exactly what I need ta do that, which is why I'm here. If tha people don't accept my attempt ta redeem myself, then I'm not gonna blame them." Confidence filled his voice and Cecilia felt hopeful if a bit worried he would press too hard. "I seek ta set things right, even if I still need ta figure out how. I'm not gonna be pretentious about how people see me; I just don't wanna be treated as tha enemy as I walk through this sacred land."

Two bright amber eyes inspected two electric reds, the combined glow creating a strange orange haze between them. Aside from one sentinel's annoying sinus whistle, not a sound could be heard in the hall. Everyone waited with baited breath as the Keeper considered his response carefully, giving no indication of his thoughts until he spoke. Cecilia felt her heart pounding in a way it hadn't since before she'd first picked up a shield and taken up the mantle of a warrior.

"We defend nature to the best of our ability and consider ourselves its servants," he began carefully. "And it's because we acknowledge ourselves as its servants that we cannot pretend to speak on its behalf. I am very sorry, sir, but I cannot forgive you for whatever crimes you committed previously, against nature or otherwise. That is not my right."

Cecilia's heart sank at the words, and she literally bit her own tongue to stop herself from speaking out. The silver-haired sentinel took a step forward and reached for Khujand as if to eject the visitor from the hall, but stopped in her tracks upon Melyria's hiss and pointed finger. Seemingly unaware of the exchange, Ordanus didn't hesitate before continuing.

"Part of serving nature is the acknowledgement that we cannot decide who is or isn't to be forgiven. It is not my right or anyone else's to question a living being's atonement, and to deny them would be a crime itself. Elune teaches that the balance will judge a person's intentions; in this worldly life, we may only judge that which is apparent to us from a person's actions, and not what dwells within the heart."

Both wife and husband's ears perked up, and even Melyria snorted as though she was holding back a smile. Having been so close to thinking she'd be denied the right to experience her homeland with her life mate and he'd be denied the right to show he truly had changed, Cecilia experienced a light-headed feeling at the sudden change in direction of the meeting.

"Khujand of the Darkspear, do you swear outwardly to us that your intentions toward our land and our society are pure?" Ordanus asked.

"I swear," the relieved troll replied, his voice almost weary with stress.

"Do you swear that while in our lands, you will not take the property, dignity or life of another living being except in defense?"

"I swear!"

"Do you acknowledge that for any crime you commit, _your wife will bear the punishment_ as your sponsor instead of you, be it a fine, a lashing, jail or _execution_?" the Keeper asked, punctuating his mention of the death penalty.

"I do."

"You are all witnesses to our oath," Ordanus addressed to all the night elves and dryads in the room as he swept his non-wooden arm in an arc in front of him. "You will have your opportunity to experience what the only true and correct way of life is like; the Laughing Sisters shall spread the word among the guardians of the forest as well as the sentries at our towns that you are to be allowed to pass unhindered and bear all the rights of a guest in our culture unless you forfeit that right through your actions. Respect the land and our traditions, or your beloved will suffer the consequences."

The Keeper stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Khujand, facing the elves in the room. The jungle troll remained staring at the wall, awkward and unsure of what to do until Shael'dryn literally grabbed the baldric strapped across his back and rotated him in a circle so he was facing the correct direction.

"Sister Hearthglen," Ordanus said to Cecilia, "the fate of your husband as well as your own is now your responsibility. It is my hope that he is able to learn from our ways and, one day, atone for whatever evil he has done." His eyes narrowed, that iron returning to him despite the fact that he'd essentially granted everything they'd requested. "May Goddess have mercy on your souls."

"We cannot thank you enough, Keeper Ordanus," Cecilia said congenially as she tried to maintain proper elven emotional restraint, her fingers trembling from residual anxiety from when his intention hadn't been clear.

"All the thanks I need would be confirmation that one of our primordial cousins has seen the light of the moon, and that the Sisters' trust has not been misplaced." He motioned for the elves to approach them in the center of the hall as he spoke. "He is not the first of his kind to seek redemption for unspecified crimes in the past, but he is the first non-Druid to do so. If he earns the trust of the children of the stars, then you must ensure that he spreads knowledge of the balance among his people; that would be a great achievement for both our people and nature itself."

"I love happy endings because they make me happy!" Shael'dryn said while turning to face Khujand and standing far closer to him than he was comfortable with.

"Yeah, uh, we do to," he mumbled as another dryad literally started dancing to no music at the edge of the circle of people.

One after the other, the six druids bowed before Khujand and nodded to Cecilia, respecting the traditional boundaries of their people despite all the massive societal changes brought by modernity since the fall of Nordrassil. Five sentinels bowed to Cecilia and nodded to Khujand, and Ordanus walked the group to the door.

"For security reasons, I must still remain here atop the tower, at least for a few more months," he remarked to Cecilia almost apologetically. "We will be occupied here due to plans for the further cleansing of Thunder Peak, now that the fire elementals have been euthanized. Though it appears you seem to have plans to see more of the region, it will take a few days for the Sisters to spread the word among the ancients and sentinels of the jungle troll radiating voodoo that has been granted freedom of movement. It's safer for you to wait a few days before leaving; until then, we have a few hovels open for civilian visitors. Sentinel Frostshadow and I cannot grant much of our time; we would be honored if we could at least extend proper hospitality in terms of sleeping quarters."

"We would be honored to remain as guests, Keeper," Cecilia replied as she took Khujand by the arm. "We would like to see my ancestral home in Serenity as well as my sister in Astranaar; but it would be great to explore the area here at Raynewood as well."

"There will be plenty of time to catch up tomorrow," Melyria almost yawned as she and Shael'deyn led the happy couple down the ramp. "It has to be nearly seven in the morning at this point; we could all use some sleep before any sort of planning and word spreading."

Keeper Ordanus bid the group good morning as they parted ways. Walking in near shock at how well the meeting had gone, Cecilia squeezed Khujand's big bicep as they descended the ramp and left the tower. The dryads rambled on and on about things they wanted to show the mixed couple during their visit, with Melyria occasionally trying to get a word in edgewise.

As they approached one of the empty hovels inside of a smaller hollowed out tree house, a single silver-haired sentinel with a deviated septum at the edge of the military camp glared at the interracial couple whom her superiors were treating like guests. Shaking her head violently in disapproval, she spurred her sabre on out of the camp, running southward without even answering the startled gate guards when they inquired as to her destination.


	21. Showdown With Sodor

**A/N: the conversation in the middle here was inspired by literally hours of research into real-life meetings between torturers and their former victims. It wasn't easy to find, but there are examples out there, and none of them were what I expected. Not everybody reacts the same; not every reunion goes the same direction; many of them seem very brief, and only a few of them feature deep or heavy discussions. I tried to keep this one along the lines of what I know of Sodor's personality and examples I researched.**

Cecilia stretched out under the light covers, doing her best not to wake Khujand. He was almost always the first one awake, and she felt he deserved to be the one to sleep in for once.

Then again, it had been a long time since she had slept under properly elven-made silk covers. They'd traveled long and hard. Nothing wrong with drifting off for a bit more…

When she opened her eyes, she realized that it may have been another hour that she slept. On the first night, her hips ached a bit from the hippogriff ride and from a certain something else, but for the most part it was like any other morning. She didn't even have to pop her joints as much as usual, and her stretching didn't cause pain. Rolling over to observe her husband gradually wake up, she couldn't help but marvel at how well everything had turned out so far.

They had slept the remainder of the day off after meeting with Keeper Ordanus, and even stayed in bed much of the following night. When they finally did wake up, much of the night remaining had been spent with the Laughing Sisters. Traditional hospitality had proven to be more overwhelming than Cecilia had remembered, and with all the sightseeing led by the dryads and the communal meals - including a rather bizarre lunch shared with a mountain giant munching on geodes - there hadn't been any time to tend to the couple's logistical needs. They had reached their second night at Raynewood, and now that they had crossed the most precarious bridge on their trip it was about time they started to actually plan the rest of it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Shael'dryn calling from outside the tarp covering the hovel's entryway.

"Yoohoo, breakfast is ready!" she chirped from her spot directly in front of the entrance rather than off to the side like an elf would do.

Stirring from sleep, Khujand tried to pull Cecilia closer before he even opened his eyes. "Mmm, sandalwood," he mumbled as she weakly resisted his grasp.

"Honey, the dryads are literally standing right outside the door!" she giggled, almost ready to give in.

Fortunately and unfortunately, the dryad's eavesdropping kept them both in check. "I like sandalwood too, it's such a nice smell to smell!" Shae'dryn said obliviously.

Mutually grumbling, they both slid off the low-lying mattress on opposite sides and collected their underwear from wherever it had been flung the day before. The hovel looked like a messy hotel room, as both of them had become nearly lethargic after the pent up stress of not knowing whether their trip would even be possible until thirty-two hours ago. Most of their spare clothing was still in their travel bags, and it took them a moment to dig it all out. Their packing had been utilitarian; there were five sets of the same exact clothing for each of them, and they would just have to rewash those.

Emerging from the hovel once they had donned their animal skins, they both breathed in the night air and stifled laughs when the dryad followed suit in an overdramatized fashion.

"Ah, the great outdoors!" Shael'dryn sighed for the hundredth time as she led them to the dining tent of the Raynewood camp.

Proving to them that dryads really don't ever run out of things to talk about, she jammered away during the entire walk there, though it didn't prevent either wife or husband from staring around in awe. For Khujand's part, he was simply amazed to see in person everything she had described to him in anecdotes, and better yet without being treated like the plague. A number of the night elves at the camp gave him odd stares, but once word had spread locally that a jungle troll radiating voodoo had been granted the protection of the Laughing Sisters, most of the people just went about their business. After so much time spent fighting against the Kaldorei, he now found himself in the midst of one of their more closed-off, socially conservative settlements.

For Cecilia, it was entirely different. Not only had she spent the most significant years of her life away from her people, but she had also taken in the habits of other races. Everything came back to her - all the traditions, taboos, expected public behaviors and strict rules of conduct. It had all remained there, twelve-thousand years of subconscious internalization versus ten years of conscious freedom of thought, but it felt different. She still lacked that higher, philosophical sense of wonder she had initially expected but once she calmed down and viewed the trip for what it was - a very ancient being getting in touch with her roots - she felt better about what was turning out to be an exciting, nostalgic vacation.

Once they reached the dining tent, they saw that Shael'dryn had already ordered breakfast from the overwooked cooking crew, and there were a few dryads and even two off-duty sentinels seated on cushions in a corner. As the mixed group approached, the sentinels behaved as though nothing was amiss, and the relaxed atmosphere as well as the kindness of the Sisters was touching.

"Shael'dryn, you've really gone over the top," Cecilia remarked as she sat down and greeted the others. Khujand took the cushion next to her silently, seemingly content to let her do the talking.

"Not at all; you're guests!" the dryad leader chortled. "We're happy to have a returnee who devoted her life to defending the land during the Vigil. And we're all thrilled that you've brought someone who once fought for the other side. It's like those dramatic plays the humans are so fond of!"

Everyone chuckled at Shael'dryn's statement that she likely didn't intend as a joke (it was just the dryad's luck that nobody seemed to laugh at her actual jokes). The two sentinels ate at ease along with the others, apparently comfortable sharing a meal with a troll. So far, the locals had at least been cordial, though some would surreptitiously sneak away from seating areas or service tents when Cecilia entered with Khujand. She also noticed that whenever he drank from one of the communal water pots - a habit of her people that he found particularly difficult to get used to himself - her fellow elves would stop drinking from it. It was as though he was diseased; he either didn't notice or didn't care, but typical of her protectiveness over him, the aversion behavior of her racial kindred bothered her immensely. Seeing perhaps kindred spirits in the two sisters next to her, she tried to open a conversation involving her husband - which only the dryads and an unusually responsive treant had been keen to do so far.

"You've all managed to keep this place free of all the changes to other settlements," she said to one of them. "Last I remember from Astranaar, things had become quite international."

Chewing on a bite of her spicy bread, the older of the two sentinels with battle scarring as heavy as Cecilia's slowly turned to face them. "The presence of a Keeper of the Grove tends to prevent more drastic changes," she said after eyeing Khujand for a second. "They subtly prevent the landscape and soil from accomodating the manually constructed buildings our human and dwarven allies prefer, so said 'allies' tend not to spend much time here."

Cecilia grinned. "Brilliant. It seems to have succeeded rather well." She glanced at the younger sentinel who had also been suspiciously eyeing Khujand. "Have either of you been posted at Serenity lately?"

"I was there a few months ago," the older sentinel sighed regretfully. "It isn't what it once was, if you're planning on visiting a more traditional yet non-military town. The House of Edune would be a better choice."

"We were actually planning on going there for a few days before returning here; one of my shield sisters retired there. Then we'll move on to Astranaar." Feeling pensive, Cecilia edged a bit closer. "Are you referring to the colonization of Serenity Grove by the Alliance?" she asked in a low tone. Since the Alliance had been embraced by the High Priestess, openly criticizing it was taboo; Cecilia had a hunch that other older individuals might share her resentment, but to openly use such a pejorative term as 'colonization' was still a politically charged act.

Her instincts were sharp, however, and her fellow ancient immediately loosened up upon the realization that they shared the same ideology. The older sentinel shook her head, and they both relaxed at their similar attitudes - likely the result of being from a similar generation. "No, it's worse than that unfortunately. Serenity is what happens after the colonizers pull out." She twirled a lock of her light green hair with silver streaks in it, matching Cecilia's grey streaks in ageing pattern though not color. "The gnomes discovered something in the water table. Some sort of enzymes."

"They thought they could reproduce them for wells in the Eastern Kingdoms," Cecilia sighed herself this time. "As if the blessing of nature was some measurable, scientific phenomenon they could empirically analyze."

"Exactly, they basically wanted to leech our gift." They were speaking at normal volume at that point, no longer anxious about being heard venting about the blue and gold standard. "I've been told that the grove's local priestess tried to explain to the human diplomats posted there that the tampering would disrupt the balance, but she was overruled by a male of our kind sent from Darnassus. Likely placed by the High Priestess herself in order to enforce the whole marriage of conveience she forged with Stormwind; the humans were in charge and one of our own men was assigned there to make that clear."

The younger sentinel grew visibly uncomfortable with the open criticism of Tyrande Whisperwind, and jumped in to change the subject after fidgeting for a moment.

"How did you meet…your…husband?" she asked just as uncomfortably.

Khujand's eyes grew wide and Cecilia knew he feared broaching the topic of Warsong any further. Patting his hand to reassure him, she cut the story about eight years short and mentioned only their reuniting a year and a half before.

"We met while fighting the Iron Horde on Draenor," she replied. The dryads cooed, the sentinels loosened up even more next to the supposed racial enemy and Khujand stopped sweating bullets. "Much of the fight to defend Azeroth from another otherwordly invasion was non-factional, and we spent quite a bit of time together that way."

Attempting to show as much affection as was publicly acceptable in her culture, she put her hand in his, eliciting giggles from the dryads and a blush from the younger sentinel. "I suppose it's unconventional, but She moves in mysterious ways, as they say."

The older sentinel almost smiled for a moment before looking puzzled. "Honestly, it isn't that weird," she said. "I mean…few of us rarely marry outlanders but those who do are often like you two."

Mulling over the comment for a moment, Cecilia failed to grasp what the woman meant to imply. The older sentinel picked up on the feeling and elaborated.

"I know it's supposed to be taboo, but honestly, the whole 'night elf female mated to troll male' thing isn't exactly weird anymore. If a night elf man marries outside the race, there's sort of an equal split of chances for him to end up with either a blood elf, a high elf or a human. But if one of us marries outside the race…"

She looked to her younger expectantly, and the shier of the two spoke up. "Ninety-nine percent chance that a night elf woman marrying a person from another race will marry a variety of troll. And since we outnumber our men by a great deal…I mean, it's definitely still not universally accepted, but like she said, the two of you aren't that weird."

Both wife and husband exchanged amused looks, sharing a sort of relief that perhaps they weren't such an odd couple after all. "Do you know of any such couples personally?" Cecilia inquired, rather enthralled by the revelation. "I mean, is it possible to see such a pairing on the streets of an elven town?"

"Ah…I've heard of some couples living in Moonglade. Well, only in Moonglade, given the neutral presence there," the older sentinel answered pensively. "Usually in neutral towns like your situation, from word here in the camp. More for legal reasons than anything."

"Except for Melas!" Shael'dryn chimed in. "He has that dark jungle fever!"

The other women shared a laugh, and the older sentinel noticed Cecilia's perplexed look again.

"His story is sort of a local legend," the scarred sentinel said. "The Shadowtooth tribe - the dark trolls that joined as a regiment of the Sentinel Army during the Third War - believe in reincarnation. There's this troll female-slash-night elf male couple living in the woods not far from here - Anjula and Melas. They seem to think their marriage is a secret, but everybody knows; people talk. I suppose it's kind of cute in a sense. They really have no idea."

"You should visit them!" suggested one of the dryads. "Maybe they'll feel comfortable if you tell them you were accepted here and they'll come visit us. Then we can see their trollbebehs!"

Smiling both at another unintentional joke by a dryad and the suggestion that their marriage was accepted, Cecilia decided to push for a little more information.

"Have people said anythin' about us?" Khujand finally asked, causing the younger sentinel to choke on her spicy bread at the sudden intrusion of his rumbling voice.

"What? Oh, you speak Darnassian so well," the younger sentinel stuttered as chewed up bread spilled onto her lower lip.

"He's like a cultured cave man!" Shael'dryn chortled.

"I was saying that the other week!" Cecilia shot right back, causing her husband to furrow his brow sheepishly at the result of opening his mouth.

The group of elves and dryads began sharing news about the locale, colonialism and the begrudging acceptance of the couple by most of the soldiers as Khujand munched on the bleu cheese imported from Teldrassil. They were all so engrossed in the conversation that nobody noticed the hurried footsteps and low arguing voices on the other side of the dining tent right away.

Shael'dryn had just finished sharing a bizarre story about running a Venture Company enforcer through with her spear when the early evening conversation began to die down. Her skill for recounting gruesome details with an innocent, gleeful smile was in and of itself a form of entertainment, and the jokes the dryads made about nailing lumberjacks to posts lining the Company's illegal logging roads suggested a sort of detachment only capable of the not entirely free-willed children of Cenarius. As the scuffing outside increased in volume, Cecilia's long ears pricked up and the others took notice.

"It's a personal visit and I'm off duty," the oddly familiar-sounding voice of a male Kaldorei sounded from near the tent entrance. By the tone of voice, he was about as annoyed as the usually calm and collected menfolk could be. "I have the right to speak to him just as he has the right to roam."

Cecilia instinctively knew the discussion had to be about her husband, and she felt him tense at the thought of being accosted on only his second night among the night elves. Before the others sitting with them could speak, Melyria's voice sounded off from just outside the tent flap as well.

"You can argue about legality all you want. The security of this camp is still my responsibility," she said sternly to the recalcitrant interlocutor. "Your explanation alone implies that you intend more than just a talk."

Rising to see what the commotion was about, Cecilia prayed it wasn't who she thought it was. Facing her former victims from the Silverwing era was a task she would never have to undertake; they were all dead. Khujand had been a torturer with Warsong, however; all of his victims were presumably alive unless old age had caught up with them as it was doing with many older night elves post-immortality. Those who remained in the area posed the second challenge to their trip after the initial plea for quarter with Ordanus: facing people who Khujand had hurt without justification.

"If he truly is here for peaceful purposes only, then there is no security risk in my meeting him," the man who appeared to be a feral druid said as Cecilia exited the tent. Two more druids had followed him there, and several on-duty sentinels were backing Melyria up as they formed a semi-circle. "I don't see how you can question the motives of a free citizen for the sake of defending an admitted former Horde member!"

"It's not for you to question my command," Melyria said, appearing to lose her patience with the man much more quickly than she had with the dryads two nights ago. "I will not allow the seeds of discord to be sewn, especially after Keeper Ordanus has put his own reputation on the line with his pardon!"

Cecilia could hear Khujand ambling up behind her, increasing her anxiety as she sought a means to extinguish what were, by the standards of elves, flaring tempers. She only started to recognize who the man was when her husband had stood next to her, which meant that it was already too late.

Standing as tall as Cecilia - herself taller than most of the menfolk - the druid was decked out in the furs and vegetative mantle of a druid of his order. He had violet skin and a blue-black beard and hair with flecks of grey, and he retained a noble air about him despite his negative aura. Noticing the subject of the conversation, he turned toward the not so odd couple. Atop his head grew two proud antlers, but something was awry. The bases were sturdy and thick but at some point along the length, there was a discolored line where they seemed to be underdeveloped, as though they had been broken off after having already matured. The lines of the cuts were jagged as though they had been performed with a hacksaw.

Cecilia's jaw dropped open at the same time as Khujand's as they both saw Sodor Bowleaf, a feral druid formerly assigned to the Silverwing Sentinels, for the first time in nearly a decade.

Sodor's case had been one of Khujand's more shameful moments before his identity swap, when he was still mired in his former life as the Mor'shan jailer. Though he had never really harmed the druid physically, he did something much, much worse for a Kaldorei: he wounded the druid's dignity and pride. Wanting to make an example after an attempted riot by the prisoners, Khujand had sawed Sodor's antlers off and ordered him to perform demeaning janitorial work in front of the captive sentinels. Such an insult was worse for the night elves than having a limb hacked off. When his eyes met those of the jungle troll, everyone in the flat, grassy area in front of the tent grew silent, and Sodor turned to face Khujand, standing motionless as though he expected his former captor to start. Even though the sentinels in the area didn't know the whole truth, Sodor did; the recognition in his eyes was apparent. Officially, word had spread that a heavyset Darkspear man from Ratchet named Khujand was present; there was and wouldn't be any mention of a lanky former Outrider named Garot'jin. But there didn't need to be - physical and name changes aside, the eyes of two men who knew each other quite well couldn't be fooled.

Taking the hint, Khujand moved away from Cecilia, and she froze as she tried to think of a solution. The two men stood nearly toe-to-toe now, Sodor glaring up at the Shadow Hunter who'd been granted formal quarter and shelter without fear. Melyria, already exasperated from the unwitting grief caused by the dryads earlier, appeared resigned to keeping her glaive at the ready, watching both of the two men focusing on each other to the point of obliviousness.

Cecilia had never spoken to Sodor when they'd served together and he likely wouldn't recognize her, and he shouldn't have recognized Khujand from the mere announcement by Keepr Ordanus; the description wouldn't match what Sodor would remember at all. The only answer, in that case, was that the old druid was bitter enough to inspect literally every Darkspear who approached Ordanus seeking quarter or redemption, fellow druid or otherwise. Either simple racism or an obsession with the statistically tiny chance that he'd ever bump into the man who'd wronged him again could be the only possible sources of such behavior, and neither prospect was comforting. Cecilia had known of Sodor as reserved and cool-headed, but always morally outraged by the Horde. He had contained that outrage for the moment, but when finally faced with the man he surely recognized as his former torturer, there was no guarantee how he would react.

Khujand, for his part, already had a look on his face like a scolded child. As much as Cecilia had insisted during their late night gushing confessions throughout their relationship that the night elves were just as guilty as their enemies, she knew that her husband still lived with the guilt of what he had done. She also knew that Sodor in particular had innocent blood on his hands as well after time spent murdering any orc he encountered, but typical of her people, he seemed too haughty to admit fault - especially after having been wronged in a particularly infuriating way.

Sizing up the quarter ton of troll in front of him sternly, Sodor was the first to speak.

"So you call yourself _Khujand_. Or so I hear...Groty," he said with an unnerving calm as he addressed his former captor by a name that now belonged to a different man.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Cecilia wracked her brain for ways to intervene without escalating the confrontation. Things had the potential to turn real bad real fast.

Sodor was a powerful feral druid, but Cecilia also knew that Khujand fared rather well against druids, rogues and shamans; her husband felt shame for having violated the other man, but if Sodor instigated, her husband would defend himself. Knowing Sodor, if he opened that door, he'd a silly escalate it to the point of forcing Khujand to kill him; dignity was more important than life for such personalities. And Sodor's friends intervened, Khujand just might be put strongly enough on the defensive to react - possibly by hexing them. Once voodoo entered the equation, Melyria would no longer be able to treat Khujand as a victim and her sentinels would turn their glaives on him, or possibly Cecilia; once her husband became a target, she knew herself well enough to know that her reaction would be even more rash than his.

And if she killed even one of them, Ordanus would be forced to hunt both him and her down for execution. They'd be banned from her sacred homeland forever, all because her husband reacted to defend himself. And yet, despite that, both she and her husband would almost have difficulty blaming Sodor entirely were he to pick a fight. He was guilty like the both of them, but the damaging of his antlers had been done by Khujand without personal provocation. It was a miserable, intense situation with almost no realistic solution she could see; even moving forward to whisper urgently to Melyria might make the feral druid feel as though he were being unfairly betrayed by the Raynewood captain, merely escalating the standoff even further.

Just then, her thoughts were interrupted by the man who essentially held their ability to reconnect with her family and the holy land she'd protected for ten millennia in his hand.

"Nothing to say, whatever you call yourself now?" Sodor asked with more frustration than anger in his voice. His question didn't seem to be rhetorical and the fact that Khujand _wasn't_ reacting defensively appeared to incense him even more.

Breathing deep, Khujand avoided eye contact with his former victim, the first such encounter since his release from prison. He had met acquaintances, colleagues and Cecilia - who he had smuggled out of the jail - but he had never been forced to face and explain himself to someone he had tortured.

He looked entirely lost. "Whashyu want me ta say?" the melancholy man replied.

Khujand tried using the silent treatment, but his guilt eroded what little stubborness the domesticated troll had left, and the Bowleaves in general were known as an obstinate bunch. Sodor's refusal to answer questions himself easily broke Khujand's resolve.

"I'm sorry. Maybe that's not worth anythin' ta ya, but I'm never gonna grow tired of sayin' it."

Unmoved by the awkwardly worded apology, Sodor, narrowed his eyes in disappointment when nothing else was offered. "And?"

Snorting his own frustration, Khujand rambled, seemingly unsure of what to do. "Look, I understand if ya hate me. I'm not gonna tell ya not ta. I…" He sighed, running a hand over his mane. "I never planned what I'd say if our paths ever crossed again."

"So you planned to just enjoy this new life of yours as if you never did anything wrong?" Sodor sneered. "Forget about all those you hurt and move on?"

"I'm not ever gonna forget, man. Not a day went by when I was doin' my own stint on tha inside that I didn't remember all ya. Not a day went by that I didn't hope tha people I hurt were able ta cope."

The irate elf's reply was fast, leaving no one to get a word in edgewise. "So that you spent time in prison as well wipes away what you did?"

"What else is prison for?" Khujand asked sincerely. "Whashyu want, then? Ya want me ta die? Is that it? I lost my own dignity here," he said while fingering the four-inch knubs that were long, proud tusks the last time when the two men had seen each other. "Whashyu want from me now? Tell me, I'm bein' real here."

Not a sound was heard other than the deep rumble of Khujand's lungs as he breathed and the creaking of Sodor's leather claw gauntlets. Had the Darkspear been able to think of more to say, he likely would have continued rambling, but at that point there was nothing more for Sodor's silent treatment to pull out of him. He looked over Khujand's clipped tusks with a grim satisfaction and spoke.

"For a very long time, I wished you a slow, painful death," the druid started in a low, acrimonious voice that was more disconcerting than had he shouted. "Whatever went wrong in my life, I believed ultimately led back to you. You were my favorite scapegoat, my excuse for everything. I no longer had to be responsible for my own results in life." Eyes narrowing again, his anger finally broke through and pushed the frustration aside. His voice actually became quieter with his rage, which was even more uncomfortable. "But it was fake. The blame caused more destruction in my life than my actual experience in jail did. I was able to run from…the crimes of my own side."

Both his companions and Melyria's troops leaned forward; anyone who knew Sodor, even as distantly as Cecilia did, would be shocked beyond belief by such a confession. Even the dryads quieted down.

"I will never, ever forgive you for what you've done," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "And I will never accept you as a friend to our people. But…we go by that which is apparent. You claim you've repented. Well, I think you're as plain a liar and a fraud as I've ever seen. But if you have permission to prove that you really want to help restore the balance of nature, then do that whether you're sincere or not. Go try to make up for the crimes you committed against the world and think of what you've done until you die. Maybe that will spur you to actually cause a positive change for the planet; whether you actually intend that to happen or not is as meaningless as your apology."

With those brief, surprisingly non-aggressive words, Sodor backed off and turned to leave with his two colleagues. "I had a dream about meeting someone I once encountered on the battlefield; I only came to see if it was true. Your presence here is contingent on showing the Keeper that you're actually sincere; good luck with that. I have nothing more to say."

Without even taking a formal leave from the captain, Sodor silently joined his two companions. The three shifted into sabre cat form and slinked off to the outpost they had been stationed at to the north, followed by Melyria's sentinels as a safety precaution despite Sodor's earlier claim of only having wanted to talk. Those who remained in front of the tent were all quiet as the cooks inside pretended they hadn't heard anything.

Shael'dryn cleared her throat, appearing unusually somber as she held back her usual cheery grin. Cecilia reached out and pulled Khujand to her as she watched the leader of the Laughing Sisters, hoping the dryad would say something profound about letting go of anger and not judging people by what might dwell within their hearts.

Instead, she received more dryad inanity.

"That was hot!" Shael'dryn cried out to the elation of her fellow dryads and even a few of the sentinels.

* * *

Cecilia watched Khujand as he scribbled away on the sheet of paper, struggling to clutch the thin elven quill between his thick trollish fingers. It likely put a strain on his knuckles, and the dryads - who always seemed to be following the couple around everywhere - cracked endless jokes as he wrote to update Irien on their current plans.

After his first confrontation with a former victim, it had taken Cecilia a good hour to calm his nerves back in their hovel, prodding him to speak despite his sulking. Once she had managed to pry him out of his shell, he had found it surprisingly easy to let go of a bit of his guilt. Though Sodor refused to forgive him, the druid had admitted fault on his own side - something Cecilia could more than confirm given all the civilians she knew he had stalked and killed in cat form - and that alone did make it a bit easier to cope. Not that her husband was trying to justify what his own actions via Sodor's sins; he was merely comforted by the revelation that both he and Sodor has suffered the loss of pride as some sort of divine justice for their crimes. The feeling of absolved guilt without denial of the extent of one's crimes was something those who hadn't committed such atrocities might not understand, but seeing a bit of himself in that former victim who was also a former criminal brought some sort of inexplicable solace. He'd never stop regretting what he'd done just as she wouldn't, but the confrontation did, in some way, make it easier to rationalize his own continued existence.

Snapping her back to the present, Melyria rapped her nails on the table as Cecilia trailed off while speaking her letter to Unelia out loud.

"You two really are still smitten, aren't you?" the sentinel captain asked.

The former sentinel glanced at her husband one last time before turning to their new friend. "You could say we have a shared past," she remarked knowingly. Melyria could obviously tell there was more behind the conversation with Sodor, but didn't press on, and Cecilia readily changed the subject. "So you say it will take two nights for the mail to reach Astranaar?"

"Give or take. For logistical reasons, we ship letters by sabre rather than by hippogriff, just like in the old nights." Melyria stared at the tent wall and notched lines in the air with her finger as she counted. "Assuming your sister writes and sends a response the moment she receives your letter, it will be four nights from now before you see anything here, at the soonest."

"So writing to our housemate in Ratchet is out of the question?"

"Yes, definitely," Melyria answered. "There's no way it will get here in time. Honestly, if you're one of the Serenity originals, you ought to stay there for the whole four nights. We'll still have the empty room for you two once you return, and by that time there should be something waiting for you with the postmistress - it's almost a quarter of a night's journey there anyway, so you'd have plenty of time to rest before you'd need to return."

"You won't miss us here?" Cecilia asked, only half joking. "You've extended such kindness to us considering my husband's past, and my…well, my past as well," she said while gesturing to her dim, faded, barely glowing eyes.

"Honestly, we will. You guys aren't so odd and many of the troops are beginning to take to the idea of a troll repenting from the Horde and taking such an interest in our culture. None of our fellow Alliance members, aside from a handful of the draenei, have sought so intently to learn our ways. Perhaps some are too proud or old-fashioned to admit it, but most of us feel a bit validated in our own beliefs by seeing him here."

Beaming like a dryad, Cecilia finished her letter explaining to Unelia their progress so far, their resident status at Raynewood and their readiness to come visit. Irien had claimed she could cover both of their duties at the post office for as long as needed, so there was no guilt in continuing to vacation without planning a return date. She sealed the envelope and scooted closer to Melyria.

"We'll stop by again on our way back to the Barrens," Cecilia said as she popped her knuckles after all the writing. "We're really going to miss you all too. I mean, you know how much I need to see my ancestral grove, but you guys are the ones that made this family trip possible."

Awkwardly at first, Melyria reached forward to rest a hand on Cecilia's shoulder before the retiree pulled the active-duty captain into a full on hug, which she didn't resist. Saying early goodbyes and turning in both letters to the post mistress, they collected most of their belongings - some of them would remain in the hovel - and walked to the flight point as Khujand and a mob of dryads feeling his mane without permission trailed behind them.

Their hippogriffs had been prepared for them, and Cecilia literally had to wrestle with the flight mistress to force the woman to take some sort of payment for her stabling the two mounts for the past few nights. Before they took off, Melyria turned pensive as she looked up into her elder's eyes.

"Be easy on your home grove, sister," Melyria warned cautiously. "You know how your community was hit harder than many by modernity. It's become worse since you left, but they do the best with what they have."

Accepting the ominous foreshadowing, Cecilia said one last goodbye and spurred her hippogriff on, leading her husband in an arc as they turned south. For one split second, she could have sworn she saw Keeper Ordanus waving to them with one gnarled wooden hand from his tree tower, always guarded and deprived of privacy by a contingent of diligent bodyguards.

* * *

Though the roads had not been paved until the end of the Long Vigil, the path to the grove which had remained nameless during that time looked the same. It was the Alliance that named it Serenity Grove once the night elves had joined the faction, and on the way there Cecilia explained to Khujand all the changes which had taken place, and the subtle, stealthy form of colonization that had befallen the village that was originally composed of only twenty-five people.

They had been a tight-knit community, all of them women as the menfolk slumbered in the Emerald Dream. Tyrande Whisperwind herself had gathered the survivors of the Sundering at the foot of Mount Hyjal ten thousand years ago, and set about tasking the Kaldorei with the rebuilding of their civilization. Instead of an urban, patriarchal culture with social classes, they were to become a forest-dwelling, matriarchal culture based on communalism. There were a handful of true towns like Astranaar and Auberdine, but for the most part the bulk night elven population was crowded into small groves like Serenity mostly inhabited by less than a hundred people each. Their numbers were stretched thin and even with immortality, the absence of men meant no reproduction for long periods of time and the reliance on the original cadre of Sundering survivors - no more than a hundred thousand people. The loss of any of them to combat or accidents was a great calamity, and in order to better protect the holy land of northern Kalimdor, Tyrande and her advisors divided the map into provinces and proportioned the settlements geographically such that no area was left without a population to patrol it. Care was taken to keep families together even while making some utilitarian decisions for the sake of their sacred duty, and the scheme of a high number of small communities spread the responsibility in a manageable fashion.

Lamynia, a priestess and apprentice of Tyrande herself, was assigned as the leader of a grove in south-central Nightsong Woods, designated as their commander of military operations, director of building and accommodating nature, chief of healing and wellness, and spiritual leader of the small community. Like other priestesses of the moon, she acted autonomously within her grove as long as she responded to the High Priestess' calls to arms for wider military efforts or rotation of troops for the sake of knowledge sharing. Celonia, another second generation Kaldorei who had known a world before arcane magic was discovered, helped to found the grove along with Issinia, Cecilia's mother. Once the three had arrived at the location designated by Tyrande, they marked it with their ever-vigilant owl companions and returned to Hyjal, fetching several dozen other women and leading them back after saying their goodbyes to other survivors; half of those women perished during the journey. With the men already in the Dream, the women were on their own; even beyond Serenity, many did not survive the transition from mostly housewives and artisans to warriors of the night, and died on the long treks to their assigned groves. Those who survived became more hardened than the men had ever been, and a bond of true sisterhood kept them sane during the mind-numbing monotony of the Vigil.

When the Third War was over, they were already shattered as it was: they had suffered heavy casualties, had to readjust to the presence of at least some of the menfolk in their communities and were, now and forever, mortal: they would grow old and die after having known immortality for most of their existence. The level of societal shock and disarray was enormous as emotions and feelings and wants and desires and vices they had never known during their waking dream, a time without hate or fear, crashed into them like the waves of a tsunami.

Then, they joined the Alliance…and things went downhill from there for all but the largest, more robust settlements.

The addition of outside night elves unfamiliar with the originals already did enough to erode the traditional communalism, and the quicker rotation schedules for the Sentinel Army prevented the bonds of sisterhood from forming as firmly. With the influx of foreign races considered equal citizens before the eyes of the law but bringing with them very different behaviors, beliefs and bacteria, the originals in small villages like Serenity soon found themselves numerical minorities in their own homes.

Priestess Lamynia in particular had endured a great amount of disrespect. Darnassus was below Stormwind and even Ironforge in the hierarchy of the Alliance, and the tree tower once under the command of Lamynia had to sacrifice one of its three floors for two human commanders who cared little for the preferences and habits of the locals. The Alliance bias for male leaders led them to pressure Darnassus into sending a non-local male as a "representative" of the High Priestess Tyrande, and his job was essentially to remind the locals that the humans were in charge for the sake of staving off the Horde and to remind Lamynia of when her rubber stamp was needed. Like a declawed tigress, she sealed herself away in the top floor of the tower, her dignity and pride wounded by the very High Priestess who had trusted her to lead the community on her own for ten thousand years.

Traditional housing was recycled back into the earth by non-local druids on the orders of commanders who had never even visited Serenity, and the entire layout of the grove was decreed by rotational, non-elven logistics planners who never remained there for more than three months at a time. The once tight-knit night elf grove of twenty five soon became a busy and chaotic Alliance town of a few hundred.

And that was all by the time Cecilia - still known by her birth name Isurith at the time - had left. Melyria had scared her somewhat with her warnings about the dilapidation of the grove in the past few years, and much of the ride was spent with Khujand trying to console her over a true, natural, even divine beauty possibly lost.

They had been talking everything out and venting so much that the hours and hours passed by in the blink of an eye. Before they even knew it, they could see the run-down gate manned by a single, sleeping human guard wearing an Alliance tabard and a former flight point that looked like it had been shut down years ago.

With a sigh, Cecilia led them to descend to the ground. She had gone from laughing almost to the point of choking on her spicy bread with the dryads that evening to choking on a lump in her throat as she wondered what awaited them behind that gate with the faded colors of a signpost that once apparently read "Serenity Grove" before the wooden letters had fallen right off.


	22. Sojourn to Serenity

As their hippogriffs landed at the dilapidated gate of his wife's ancestral grove, Khujand began eyeing the sleeping human guard. They had only visited a single night elf settlement so far, and he hadn't yet tested out the freedom of passage granted to him by Keeper Ordanus. He halfway expected the local elves to simply eject him outright, and knowing humans, dwarves and draenei, he expected any of them whom he would potentially meet to likely panic and react even more rashly. Several of his best friends back in Ratchet were of those races: Erikur a human, Vegnus a dwarf and Yara, Kiul and Anushka all draenei. They were the first to tell him that their people largely viewed his with alarm and that he ought to be wary, especially if they were wielding crossbows or wands.

However, the armor e human gate guard barely even stirred, and the empty mead jug next to him implied that he'd be out for a while. The couple remained atop their saddles, riding their flying mounts on the ground.

"Do we just…walk in?" he asked Cecilia. "Like, we don't stable them anywhere?"

She had been examining the rickety wooden gate - another change brought by the Alliance - when she realized he had spoken to her. "Hmm? Oh…yes, when we had visitors from far away settlements in the olden days, we'd leave the mounts free to roam inside of the grove. I don't see what else they'd expect us to do."

As they strode through the gate, he was struck both by the lack of activity in the town as well as his wife's somber demeanor. Her eyes were scanning the entire area, and even if he hadn't heard her rather depressing story of the grove, he would have known something was amiss.

The cobblestone streets bore the outward appearance of the moonstone the elves naturally raised from the soil, but the hand wrought human craftsmanship looked shoddy and fell apart in places. Many of the little roads in the village were covered in loose soil and leaves, and there were piles of burlap garbage bags outside the Stormwind-style apartment buildings composed of cut lumber; their construction would have been ironic had it not been so heartwrenching. Not only had her home been overtaken by human-style dwellings constructed from murdered trees, but it had been polluted with the aftertaste of post-urbanization. Night elves never generated garbage because they used everything they hunted and gathered. Everything. Rubbish bins were an unknown concept; at the very most, they left shell middens by certain riverbanks. Otherwise, whatever they didn't eat, wear or use for crafts was recycled as compost.

Batting some flies from the uncollected garbage bags away, Khujand looked through the open door of what appeared to be an inn. The lights were off inside but the owners were clearly dwarves, as he could spy a couple of them sleeping behind the counter inside. On the other side of the street were three tiny, cramped shops with the windows boarded up. He was so focused on the emptiness in the nightime streets of a village that ostensibly belonged to night elves that he hadn't even noticed when Cecilia dismounted, and he accidentally bumped into her hippogriff with his.

"Screeech!"

"Alright, sorry," he muttered as he dismounted as well, leaving the two creatures to roam.

His wife had knelt in front of a decrepit stone well surrounded by fallen leaves, unused sinews and leather strips, broken pieces of scrap wood, and shards of shattered gin bottles. Entirely motionless, she didn't appear to be peering inside of the well so much as taking in the whole scene. Remembering how Cecilia would behave when she was experiencing flashbacks from the past, Khujand merely knelt beside her and said nothing. For the longest time, she held as still as the statue of Elune in the small shrine back at Raynewood, obviously deep in thought as she recalled something about the village that served as the entire world for her for ten thousand years.

Khujand still had difficulty wrapping his head around it occasionally. Cecilia had always insisted that she didn't feel that old because eventually - after the first few centuries - her people all lost track of time. They performed the same actions and tasks repetitively day in, day out until the difference between a month and a decade became indistinguishable. They woke up at night, went to sleep at day, ate food when they were hungry and patrolled their assigned routes. She even claimed that they were latently aware that most of their conversations were repeated verbatim at a cycle the duration of which was unknowable because - again - they stopped measuring time. And though it was difficult for him to believe, she even told him that they lost their individuality, sense of self and base desires as their shared experience over time caused them all to coalesce into the same flat, emotionless non-personalities. Had they not reverted into a more instinctual mode of thinking, they'd have gone mad and faced mass suicides from the monotony.

His rumination over his wife's ruminations was broken when she sighed deeply and clasped his hand with her own.

"This was our house," she breathed out with a defeated tone despite there not having even been involved in a battle. "Mother, auntie, Unelia and I all shared a hovel that used to be here - like the one they gave you and me at Raynewood. Nothing but waking up next to each other, executing our tasks and then sleeping next to each other. Every day. By the end of the Vigil it didn't even feel like it had been ten millennia…it felt like…goodbye to the men, fight some demons, goodbye to the highborne, fight some silithids, goodbye to the men again…Third War. Tuesday."

A lone sentinel approached from up the road, though only Khujand noticed. He began kissing Cecilia's knuckles hoping that the display of affection in public would cause the sentry enough discomfort for the woman to leave them alone. It worked, and the sentry merely stood and watched the couple; Cecilia appeared oblivious to the whole exchange.

"We knew it would end one day; nature wouldn't have charged us to work with the dragonflights protecting the forest unless the threat would return. And so we lost track…a world without emotions is a world without conscious thought. Those walking machines the dwarves make…golems, they call them…we were like that. I once told you we were as feral as the sabres we rode, but the sabres have preferences and…choices. We were more like the treants but without the photosynthesis." She leaned her head on his shoulder, turning in to him as they knelt. "I know why I didn't feel some sort of epiphany when I arrived: the Long Vigil was a curse. I don't regret it, or anything that happened…the past led me to this present. But I will never, ever miss it beyond a handful of memories of my family that I'm starting to forget. It's my past, it's my life, I'm glad to be here visiting…but I'm also glad that it's over."

Heaving with another sigh as she sought his heat, Cecilia held on to Khujand's arms as he could sense the confused mixture of feelings inside of her as she saw the desecrated plot that had once been her home transformed into a dried up, abandoned well used as a garbage disposal.

"None of this makes any sense…" she murmured.

"Ya're wrong; I understand every feelin' ya describin'," he retorted. "It isn't weird and it isn't wrong, and I doubt ya're tha only one that feels this way."

Reminiscing just a moment longer, she shifted in his embrace as the sentinel awkwardly cleared her throat behind them.

"Are you the sister married to a reformed former Horde member?" she addressed to Cecilia despite being nearer to Khujand.

They both stood before turning, their eyes lingering over the brown, dying grass near the next few plots where the trees that had formed the living hovels of her neighbors had been converted into public toilet stalls - stupidly, right next to the former source of drinking water.

"Yes, that's us," Cecilia answered for them both. "I take it you run the nightwatch by yourself, soldier?"

The sentinel nodded, shifting her weight to one side with a sort of childish shyness as she actually avoided Cecilia's gaze more than Khujand's.

"How old are you?" the former sentinel asked the current sentinel, always mindful of age in such an ancient society.

"One millennium. I was born during Silithus."

Smiling sincerely, Cecilia nodded her own head. When the sentinel seemed to realize the age disparity based in body language and voice intonation, she went into a full bow, moving frantically as though she hadn't shown proper respect. Still avoiding her elder's faded eyes, the sentinel looked her extensive, pre-Sundering style tattoos up and down, her face displaying recognition at something Khujand couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Are you really one of the originals from this place?" the sentinel asked.

"I am."

The sentinel looked down sheepishly, not giving off the aura of a skilled, polished sentry at all. "I'm sorry. For what happened here." She gave no physical indication of what she was referring to, but even the jungle troll understood it as a reference to the rundown condition of the village.

"The results of colonization after the colonizers pull out," Cecilia muttered, though less spitefully than the last time back at Raynewood. "Serenity isn't the only community like this, I'm sure. We survived the shattering of the planet. We will survive this," she stated confidantly like the seasoned cavalrywoman she was. Khujand beamed, proud to see his wife's mood pick up when facing the thousands of years of monotony she'd left behind.

The young (relatively speaking) sentinel lightened up, apparently inspired by her elder's comparison.

"Commander Velonia heard you would be coming. We haven't had a visitor in eight months, and that was just a dwarf collecting the belongings of a relative that used to be stationed here as a surveyor. He stayed for only one day, didn't sit down for tea and left without bidding us farewell." There was almost a twinge of sadness in the younger elf's eyes, yet her smile was real. "We don't have much, but whatever space and resources we do have are yours. The Commander prepared everything to receive you even without being sure of whether or not you'd come."

At the mention of one of her twenty four former shield sisters, Cecilia's eyes lit up the way they had that first evening on the mountaintop. " _Commander_ Velonia?" she exclaimed. "Oh, she stayed as…Velonia is the head of the military half of government?"

"No…well, sort of," the younger sentinel sighed wistfully, the sadness fighting back the smile. "She's the only leader. I was stationed here shortly before your priestess…"

"Before Elune took her."

Pouting openly, the younger sentinel appeared even more affected than the retired sentinel who had spent ten millennia alongside the grove's assigned priestess of the moon. "Yes. I only knew Priestess Lamynia for a few months. She was one of the big three who founded this place, along with the Commander's mother and another sentinel." Knowing that the other sentinel was his deceased mother-in-law, Khujand gave a warm smile himself, wishing he had been able to meet her.

"Who did the High Priestess appoint after Lamynia's passing?" Cecilia asked, the irritation already breaking through in her voice.

"Nobody would accept the position. High Priestess Tyrande doesn't deal with appointments to communties registered as merely 'village' status; the process is depersonalized at the local level of government. Whoever was in charge at Raynewood at the time - and has since been rotated out - gave up when all of her apprentices in the Sisterhood balked at the position and she certainly wouldn't come here herself."

All three stood in silence for a moment, and Khujand could feel his wife's resentment for Tyrande boiling within her.

"The past cannot be changed," Cecilia finally said in an even, controlled tone. "Velonia is free now, you said?"

"We're always free here. There's not much to do," the sentinel confessed with more embarrassment than sadness. "It's sort of like the Long Vigil again, except we're not really defending anything and it probably won't end eventually…bah," she puffed, shaking her head. "Enough of this. Celonia lives here again, too. They're both in the tower; I can have the clerk at the ground floor handle your bags while I take you up."

Gasping loudly, Cecilia appeared overjoyed. "Celonia? Oh, she was sent to Winterspring! She was the oldest living night elf as of the Third War, I was honestly worried she'd pass on too before I ever came back!"

"No…she's still alive and ticking. Honorably discharged with a dinner with some other retirees at Raynewood and a party afterwards after ten thousand years of service in a nameless grove and five years of service at a nameless, refurbished huntress lodge in Winterspring." Khujand picked up on the sentinel's melancholy tone as she led them to the dusty registration desk at the tree tower, though Cecilia seemed woefully unaware of the implication.

The registration desk had no stationary at all, and there were only three moldy books with faded covers and an empty, disgusting jar on the shelf on the back wall. One of the two clerks, a gnome who was far too small to handle any of the bags, was whittling a small pebble into a gambling die. The other, a thoroughly bored sentinel with no weapons, leapt at the chance to meet visitors and was so eager to chat Cecilia up that the young woman literally had to be pushed by the on-duty sentinel before she broke off the small talk and took the couple's bags to the detached room at Velonia's house they'd be spending the next three nights at.

Content to remain silent during what he knew was a mildly depressing time for his wife, Khujand listened to Cecilia as she almost became manic, rambling on about the green-haired mother-daughter duo, the older of whom helped found the community and the younger of whom apparently led it. As they ascended the naturally grown ramp winding around the tree tower at the village center, Khujand surveyed the mostly empty streets with dismay. Cecilia told him there were twenty-five originals at the grove, and the population more than tripled by the time she, Unelia, Johan and Elindir had moved to Astranaar for the childcare facilities. Yet one floor above the city, all he could spy now were empty streets with seven night elf women and four night elf men milling about, performing menial tasks and drinking more cheap alcohol than was reasonable for an elf. For sure, the members of other Alliance races were sleeping at night, but if there were only eleven Kaldorei off duty, three on duty, one retired and a single human and gnome on night shift…he tried to do the math as he remembered the closed up shops and apartments. That, and the ominous warnings of Melyria at Raynewood and this young sentinel here. As the trio finally entered the second floor command center, Khujand felt an odd sense of foreboding that caused him concern for his wife's manic, seemingly bipolar state since they had arrived.

"Isu!" cried out a heavily armored greenheaded woman as soon as they entered. He assumed the nickname was a reference to Cecilia's birth name and that the one shouting it must be Velonia, the new commander. "Oh, I could barely recognize you as you entered!" The elated woman held her arms out for a hug - uncharacteristically touchy-feely for their people but likely acceptable due to the time they spent together - but she hesitated after nearly taking a step forward and stayed in place behind a rickety, gnomish-designed command table with a faded map serving as a crumb-covered tablecloth.

Cecilia strode forward and hugged Velonia tightly, and Khujand spotted a second, nearly identical looking woman seated behind the commander, leaning far forward in a chair. "Isurith, is that you?" the greenhead with silver streaks in her hair, who he assumed was Celonia, asked.

Both mother and daughter looked nearly identical despite having been born seven thousand years apart - Celonia was more than twice her already ancient daughters' age - and their voices sounded nearly the same. During Cecilia and Khujand's weekend camping trips in the Barrens, she had once mentioned her brother-in-law's theory that because the population of night elves was so low and they were all descended from the few survivors of the Sundering - even those born in later millennia descended from a narrow family tree of those survivors - that there must be a low level of genetic diversity. Being married to a night elf himself, Khujand had learned to differentiate between the facial features of one to the other a bit better, but even then, he knew that their features were much less diverse, and the differences between them much less subtle, than those of blood elves or humans. And when it came to his own race - trolls - and all the subtypes, two individuals within only one type like ice troll or sand troll could very well look like entire different races of being. It made describing the face of any specific night elf individual other than his wife or Irien difficult due to the subtlety of the differences.

Looking at the mother and daughter, the only way he'd be able to know one from the other was that Celonia had silver streaks in her hair marking age and appeared thinner than Velonia. It didn't suit her; her bones poked out from her skin the way they did on a person who was naturally big-boned but lost too much weight too fast. She didn't look healthy.

When she continued leaning over in her chair without even standing to hug Cecilia the way Velonia did, Khujand knew something was wrong.

"Celonia!" Cecilia yelped happily over Velonia's shoulder as the comander tried and failed to hold the much taller retiree back a bit longer.

With a crestfallen look on her face, Velonia and the young sentinel who had led them there both looked at the floor as Cecilia pushed passed the commander and stopped in her tracks. For a pregnant moment, the two retirees looked each other over; Cecilia having retired early by choice and Celonia, as was now obvious, having retired due to circumstances less fortunate.

She refused to meet Cecilia's gaze directly at first, and the fake smiles they were both wearing held firm like a precarious security blanket. Knowing his wife as well as she knew herself, Khujand could tell that Cecilia was unsure whether or not to clasp hands, kneel in front of or reach over and hug the mother the way she had with the daughter. With jerking, unsteady movements even someone as inept as Khujand could tell were awkward, his wife leaned down and wrapped her arms around Celonia stiffly in a discomforting hug. It was only then when Khujand realized that Celonia's chair had wheels.

Embracing each other for longer than was appropriate, they pulled away after quite some time and struggled to make eye contact.

"H-how is it to be back?" Cecilia asked, her fake smile doing little to hide the quiver in her lip.

Celonia held on for so long, fighting so hard to keep her own fake smile as she examined Cecilia's face. "Great. It's just…great to be home again."

In any other tense situation, he would have tried to crawl into his shell again. Given his newfound confidence since Durotar, however, Khujand pressed forward and tried to save all the elves from the edge they were dancing on.

"So which one of ya here supposedly keeps a rare herb garden?" Khujand blurted out with that deep, rumbling voice of his, piercing the silence so deeply that Velonia actually grabbed the pommel of her short sword before realizing that her long, long-time friend's troll of a husband was speaking fluent Darnassian.

All attention was on the massive troll, including that of the unarmed sentinel-receptionist from earlier who had just ascended the ramp carrying a large platter of baked acorn meal bread, whole boiled sweet potatoes and a pile of cucumbers. Cecilia continued kneeling beside Celonia's wheelchair as the platter was laid on the table, flashing a real smile this time after the quick save.

"Sisters, this is Khujand. We met while fighting the Iron Horde on Draenor," she sighed with more relief than she had probably intended to reveal. "We're a bit atypical, but I hope you can accept him as belonging to our small group of family and friends that are like family."

Much to Khujand's surprise, Celonia actually smiled openly, a rare act for elves meeting someone for the first time. Velonia remained more cordial, suddenly falling into a more formal posture as he noticed her sizing him up. "We are honored to meet you, new Swiftfoot," the commander said, addressing Khujand by Cecilia's birth surname. "And honestly…ah, how to say…you two aren't atypical for us," Velonia snickered.

With that single comment, the previous tension washed away and Khujand began to suspect that all three women were afflicted by temporary bipolar disorder. Celonia chuckled to herself while leaning back in her wheelchair, taking one of Cecilia's hands and lacing their fingers together. "Apparently, jungle fever must have been contagious."

Both husband and wife exchanged confused looks before turning back to the two giddy greenheads.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cecilia asked with a smile she attempted to twist into an angry pout.

"Isu…our grove's former dragoon came to visit us a few years ago," Velonia said, using some sort of a code name for one of their former shield sisters that Khujand didn't understand.

Responding as though Isurith was still her name, Cecilia's eyes lit up. "Oh! I haven't been in contact with…with anybody, I feel so awful. How is she doing? Is the Alliance still keeping her stationed at that awful post with the poor rotation schedule?"

"Yes…yes, they are," laughed Celonia knowingly, taking great pleasure in holding back a secret Khujand suspected his wife was closer to deciphering than him.

"And she met somebody!" Velonia practically cackled.

Cecilia was still grinning when a look of shock spread across her face. "No…"

"Yes!" said both mother and daughter in unison just as Khujand finally realized what they were implying too, stifling a chuckle of his own.

Laughing to herself as it finally seemed to dawn on her, Cecilia prattled on as both members of the odd couple started blushing. "The sentinel captain at Raynewood said something like ninety-nine percent of us ladies who marry out…"

Velonia turned to face Khujand, her own face blushing slightly as well. "Nice to have a visit from the _second_ ever troll companion one of our sisters has brought home."

Though he and the three more mature elves merely found it as a quaint surprise, the two less mature elves - both still about a millennia older than Khujand, ironically - were embarrassed beyond belief from the 'jungle fever' comment, and pulled up stools to begin eating at the table in silence. Granting them reprieve from such topics, Cecilia steered the conversation to the generality of her decade away from the grove - minus the less pleasant details from Booty Bay. Khujand, for his part, was content to merely listen, mesmerized by the dual storytelling of both his wife and Celonia - herself even older than Cecilia's older sister Unelia and her uncle Elindir.

To him, it was simply incredible to see Cecilia, his perennial storyteller wife who never ran out of anecdotes, to herself hang on the every word of one of her deceased mother's two best friends. There was a twinkle in Cecilia's eye that was almost childlike as the two of them scoffed at the Cataclysm that had taken Azeroth a few years prior, claiming it was puny and irrelevant next to the Sundering, much to the entertainment of the three younger elves. Once they ran right through the main course, the unarmed sentinel leaned over the ramp and shouted at the gnome for tea leaves, apparently grown in the herb garden the mother and daughter shared.

And on they went in to the night, laughing and joking until the moon began to set. Though Velonia was technically on duty most of her waking hours, Serenity had been so forgotten even by potential threats that patrolling had become more of a token than a work duty. Dodging the heavier topics that first night, the group shambled out of the tree tower earlier than the dayshift human commander had even arrived, Cecilia carefully moving Celonia's wheelchair down the ramp without any sadness or discomfort from either of them.

Knowing there would be a few days for his wife to catch up on the downside - like how the grove ended up so empty and abandoned - Khujand actually had to usher Cecilia away from the front door of the two greenheaded women's house and around to the detached guest room. As eager as they were to chat, they'd need to sleep and they had more time to spend there anyway. Though he hadn't yet been in his wife's homeland for a week, he already sensed similar pain to what he had experienced in Durotar creeping up on her. A good day's sleep would do them some good before what could potentially be a depressing few days.

* * *

Cecilia grasped Celonia's arm as the sole surviving elder of the grove now known as Serenity stood up near the moonwell. Over the past few nights, she had eventually opened up about her condition - despite the initial shock upon seeing another returnee at the grove after so long, she had already accepted the situation she'd live with during the last few years of her life.

After joining the Alliance, the night elves had sped up the rotation schedule of their patrols both to accomodate sharing of troops with other races as well as to make up for their second major decline in active troop population during the Third War. Celonia had been transferred to Winterspring, much to the dismay of the rest of the grove; she was the second oldest, and given the rate at which pre-Sundering night elves found themselves ageing after the loss of immortality, many weren't sure she would live long enough to see them again - even before immortality had begun, Celonia had already been considered elderly. Like all elves her physical appearance changed little, but she began reacting just a bit more slowly during sparring, and needed just a bit more time recouperating after weeklong patrols than the others. Everyone had something to offer in Kaldorei society, and she had dutifully functioned as a sentry at the village gates, her condition preserved by the gift of Ysera.

It was over a cup of tea the previous night that she had readily opened up not only to Cecilia but even Khujand about how quickly she felt the change after the destruction of Nordrassil. It began with joint pain shortly before rainstorms approached as well as the subtle creeping in of stress lines in the skin at the corners of her eyes. Once in Winterspring, the cold bit at her fingers and ankles until they would stiffen up, and bumps and scrapes took longer to heal. Unceremoniously, she one day slipped while dismounting her assigned frostsabre and pinched a nerve in her back. The resident priestess healed the physical damage, but unlike the younger sentinels, the neurological damage remained. Even now, there were some evenings where she could still feel most of her legs (always in pain) and she had enough control of her muscles to walk short distances with assistance. At her own retirement party, she hadn't even been able to join in the traditional dances with the other women, resigned to sitting and clapping her hands while the new hundred-year-old recruits spun and pulsated in a circle of their peers.

After ten millennia of service with the Sentinel Army during which Celonia never missed a day of duty unless she was incapacitated and never once suffered disciplinary action, she was carted off to a dying, forgotten grove with a pity medal, a pension that usually arrived late and partially embezzled, and empty promises of visits from people who had mostly moved on.

Velonia facepalmed throughout the entire retelling, seething in anger at the stunning lack of respect for a woman who literally gave up everything for a nation which let her slip into the past when she was no longer deemed fit in a heartlessly utilitarian sense. Celonia had never lived with her husband in the long term, never had close relationships with her sons after they passed their druidic trials, had given up her pre-Sundering passions of diving and yachting and forged a lasting living space in the middle of nowhere with two other pioneers after the world was ripped apart, only to be sent packing without outside contact to live however many years remaining in her life in near anonymity.

Though Celonia took her plight surprisingly well, Velonia burned with the same resentment toward their race in general and government in particular that Cecilia did. Though the position of commander of an entire night elf community was usually a coveted one plagued by cutthroat competition and backstabbing, Velonia found no other contenders after her predecessor Maya Ironwood transferred to the Silverwing Sentinels along with Cecilia and her frenemy Gwynneth. The initial influx of Alliance citizens and building activity was due to the presence of enzymes in the water table that purified it for drinking naturally. Thinking they could reproduce those enzymes artificially, gnomish engineers rearranged the entire community to allow for the drilling of wells and establishment of a testing lab, ignoring the warnings of Priestess Lamynia that the quality of water was a gift from nature itself, could not be reproduced and would deteriorate if tampered with. The Alliance officers and their male night elf puppet merely reminded the Priestess that her own former teacher - High Priestess Tyrande - had made Serenity a jointly run outpost as a sign of goodwill to the night elves' new chosen faction, and that she had no say in the matter.

As Lamynia had warned, the drilling ruined the quality of the water and the elves' bond with nature in the location as well as the level of food production dropped. Not that it was a major blow - once the Alliance realized that they would not be able to exploit Serenity's water table to purify wells in the Eastern Kingdoms, they abandoned the project and much of the immigrant population emigrated back out. Those who stayed behind did so only due to poverty, and alcoholism, diabetes and heart disease were as rampant among all races as domestic violence and - despite voicifirous denials by most Kaldorei - the previously unknown phenomenon of suicide. What had begun as a grove of twenty-five women switched to twenty-three women and two men; then ten original night elves, anywhere between ten to fifteen outsider night elves depending on rotations and forty non-elf Alliance members; and finally down to eleven outsider night elves, twenty non-elf Alliance members and only two original night elves.

Even if Celonia had somewhere else to go, she would not abandon the village she helped build, even if Darnassus had. Velonia tried to keep her chin up, but had confided to Cecilia in private that she knew her mother only had a year or so left, like many of the most ancient night elves. And once she did pass on and was buried next to Lamynia, Velonia would likely retire early out of spite toward the Sentinel Army, move to Astranaar where Unelia and others were staying, and just marry and have children to preserve the bloodline which she so proudly carried. Serenity Grove, after ten thousand proud years of defending their people's holy land, was only a matter of years away from being abandoned by all, turning into a ghost town and eventually being swallowed up into nature, just like it had been the day Celonia, Lamynia and Issinia had scouted the area alone on Tyrande's orders.

The conversations had been so depressing the three often couldn't even blink, and were only saved by Khujand's surprisingly competent, unusually non-awkward interventions into the discussion.

And once again, before the village moonwell next to two gravestones, Cecilia was thankful for his intervention.

Facing all three of them, he addressed his question in general.

"May I brush the sand off?" he asked as he knelt in front of the two gravestones.  
The three nodded without speaking, but their attention was diverted from their own negative feelings for a moment. Wiping the grains away, Khujand inspected the elven runes he was just barely capable of reading, murmuring the names out loud to fill the silence with something.

"Lamynia of Hajiri, Priestess of this community, died December 14, year 29," he repeated. He swept his hand over the stone to the left. "Uryndil of Zin-Azshari, died May 20, 31. Less than two years apart; Goddess light their paths." After staring into the two stones for a long time, he turned to face the trio again. "There aren't any surnames."

Relaxing into a sort of leaning position against Cecilia, Celonia answered without strain. "In the beginning, we were not as civilized. Our histories often describe us as having moved to the banks of the Well of Eternity and then being affected and transformed by its magics, but they ignore the fact that the process took time. We didn't develop high culture overnight. The Priestess and brother Uryndil were both older than Malfurion Stormrage himself, yet they were both also younger than me…many of our generation, such as Issinia, earned surnames through accomplishments and passed them on as a token of honor. Many of us did not - that's why my daughter, as young as she is, still has no surname."

Despite being ancient herself, Cecilia was still less so than Celonia, and had only known a world with arcane magic. Her sister Unelia had been born before that discovery but only knew a world with the Well of Eternity. Celonia was older than her mother, older than uncle Elindir, yet despite all the time they spent in the same grove, there was one taboo topic their people, due to racism, never broached. Cecilia's husband was present now, and her elder had received him without hesitation; perhaps it was time.

"Celonia…you were born before your extended family settled next to the Well of Eternity."

"That's right, though many other branches of the tribe settled later," the elder answered.

"Tribe?" Khujand asked, his eyes darting from Celonia to Cecilia and back again. "So…Cenarius confirmed tha rumors, but I assumed none of ya people're old enough ta remember. Cici?"

"Before my time," Cecilia said with a shake of her head. "And before the time of even the High Priestess and Archdruid. But not of at least one person here."

Celonia lacked the wistful look Cecilia always had when remembering, and seemed more detached. "Our youngers denied it due to supremacism, but those of my generation - the first true generation of Kaldorei - began as a subtribe of dark trolls," she said with absolute certainty in her voice. "My parents - from what little I remember of them - were not trolls, but could not properly be described as elves either. They were in between. Nobody expected to live beyond a hundred years or so. But the Well, while it didn't grant us immortality like Nordrassil would, changed us. Sustained us. Our bodies became physically weaker, but our magical power became so strong. And we lived long…I was thousands of years old when Nordrassil finished growing. I had not expected to live long enough to see its completion." Cecilia watched as Celonia examined her husband's long ears, the v-shape of his body familiar to both races, and the glowing power of his eyes all elves but few trolls could tap in to. "But I always knew what I began as. Our peoples do not simply share a common ancestor; your husband's people _are_ our ancestors."

All three had been hypnotized by the story, and it was Celonia who broke the silence this time as she hobbled over next to the gravestones, supporting herself on Cecilia's shoulder the whole way. As both mother and daughter had explained, they held a vigil for Priestess Lamynia in the immediate aftermath of her passing. She had died peacefully in her sleep, discovered by Tedia and Tinalith - her two assistants from the Sisterhood of Elune. Painfully soon after the wake, grasping government officials saw not two grieving apprentices who had devoted their lives to studying Lamynia's path for so long, but two powerful priestesses in their own right who could be transferred to various Alliance outposts in need of diverse leadership; Tedia and Tinalith's own preferences were never consulted. Due to a sorrow that none of the three elves standing at the gravestones blamed them for, the two priestesses did not keep in touch with the others after their final exit. By the time Lamynia had passed away almost three years ago, Serenity was already on its way to becoming a ghost town.

Much to Cecilia's dismay, she wasn't the only one who had never stayed in touch: rotation schedules led many of the original twenty-five women of Serenity to find new lives in the brave new world. Almost all were promoted due to the high median age of the originals, though a number were also held away by relationships now that so many menfolk had awoken from the Dream. For reasons the trio sadly understood, few of the other originals ever kept in touch.

Cecilia's sister Unelia, uncle Elindir and brother-in-law Johan moved to Astranaar to care for her neices, as she already knew.

Tirith was sent to an Alliance camp in Stranglethorn Vale, totally unbeknownst to Cecilia despite her years at Booty Bay. They were so close to each other at one point, yet were completely unaware of the other's presence in the same region.

Maya and Gwynneth joined the Silverwing Sentinels with Cecilia and also like her, Maya fell into anonymity due to the subfaction's accelerated rotation rate. Gwynneth, the shame of Serenity, became a minor demagogue due to very public calls for the ethnic cleansing of orcs from Kalimdor and her denouncement of their people's friendship with the tauren.

Vadia remained nearby at the House of Edune, the supposedly more traditional settlement Cecilia had heard about at Raynewood. The woman apparently married as well, and to a respected druid no less, and Cecilia and Khujand resolved to visit and deliver some of Celonia and Velonia's weekly letters personally.

Niorith and Delebria moved to Astranaar as 'partners' shortly after Cecilia left Kalimdor for Booty Bay, but wrote as often as possible. Delebria, one of only two former nightblades at the grove, was close to Velonia's age and thus had centuries left to live, but was put into early retirement due to injuries she never rested enough to heal properly. Niorith, the older half, supported them both with her job as an Astranaar "internal sentry" - a night elf police officer, essentially - due to Delebria's meagre pension.

Silviel, having been transferred to Feralas before Cecilia had even left Serenity herself, eventually made a name for herself as an adventurer. As young as Irien, she intended to live out her centuries to the fullest, having participated in the assault on Illidan's Black Temple in Outland, the Lich King's fortress in Northrend, the final battle to kill Deathwing, the Siege of Orgrimmar and was apparently still on Draenor - where Cecilia and Khujand had met, gotten engaged and spent a year, the whole time without having even known Silviel was there. Her heart swelled with pride when Velonia said that though Silviel was too busy to keep in touch, she was well known in the Sentinel Army as the fearless woman who always introduced herself on raids as "Silviel of Serenity."

Uryndil, the only resident druid other than Cecilia's uncle after the Third War, lived much as his love did. The whole community knew that his late night 'consultations' with Lamynia were something more, though they never conceived children nor formally married. Having spent most of her final years sulking with her wounded pride and insulted dignity in the top floor of the tree tower - now an observation deck for the Stormwind representative - Lamynia apparently felt content to watch the moon set every morning as she and Uryndil sat together in silence. The night when she died was the last time in his life he ever spoke, and he lived out his remaining year and some months as a self-induced deaf-mute, sitting in front of her grave most of his waking hours except to eat and relieve himself, until one day when he was found lying on the grass next to her peacefully, one cold hand resting on her tombstone. Khujand in particular seemed effected by their story, and Cecilia knew it was likely due to their own situation: being from the pre-immortality generation and having suffered through a year of drug abuse, she'd likely die earlier than him despite his short trollish lifespan, and she held him close when the fate of the Priestess and her druid was told.

They stopped only long enough for a belated funerary prayer before heading to the gate. After a manic rollercoaster of a four-night trip, Cecilia could not quite label her feelings as they gathered their belongings from the young, unarmed sentinel who made no secret at her disappointment that the first visitors in quite some time were leaving. She walked the four toward the gate, breaking off at the same moment that Cecilia and Celonia both began breathing heavily. The two retired sentinels - one by choice and one by age - focused ahead as they sauntered through the empty streets of the village. Though the scene was certainly difficult for both Khujand and Velonia to witness, there was simply no means for them to imagine what laid within the hearts of the two ancients between them.

Cecilia fought so hard to contain herself as they approached the gate, her first visit back to her only origins - she refused to acknowledge the raised ruins referred to as Suramar at the Lost Isles as truly being the pre-Sundering city - coming to an end. Velonia trotted ahead, thanked the human gate guard for preparing the hippogriffs and promptly told him to get lost for a while. Once the four were alone save the flying mounts, the two older of the four faced each other, refusing to break eye contact this time. For two beings as ancient as they, words often weren't necessary; for the longest time, they stared in to each other while Cecilia knelt in front of Celonia's wheelchair.

So many years lost in slavery to nature, exploited by it like tools only to be tossed away when the plethora of other races willing to help defend Azeroth rendered night elven immortality and privalge unnecessary. Cecilia had seen an ancient, less advanced civilization blossom on the banks of the Well; Celonia had known the world before civilization had even been invented. Her generation was a missing link, essentially, and very few of her kind had survived to see the World Tree to begin with. Celonia would pass on soon, all her knowledge, wisdom and experience as lost as Serenity itself in time. Despite not being a crier, Cecilia would always remain baffled as to why she didn't break down right there. Her body was nearly paralyzed by the injustice, unable to even mourn.

"My health isn't so poor that I couldn't move to a larger settlement; I could leave if I wanted to," Celonia said with a comforting palm cupping Cecilia's cheek. "I am here because I choose to be; because an eon ago, I pledged my very being to patrol this humble spot and defend it, and not waste the long lives nature had granted to us. Even if fate has dragged others away, I built this house; I cannot abandon it. Please, do not grieve. There is nowhere else I'd like to be."

Choking the first few times she tried to speak, Cecilia finally formed coherent words, her entire body trembling. "I'm sorry...Celonia…that I didn't keep in touch."

"None of that, my child," Celonia hushed. "I hold no ill will toward you. I knew you were a wanderer, like your mother, despite your initial xenophobic reaction after the Third War. You left to exactly where you were meant to be, just like the rest of us. I will die here soon - I feel it coming - and Velonia must leave. That is what's meant for me and for her."

The daughter already had tears streaming down her cheeks, folding her arms and pouting at the ground, unable to contribute anything. Even Khujand, despite having no previous connection to the place, sat on a rock and just stroked his beard in a mood as blue as his hide, unsure of where to look.

"Nature always restores the balance - it is neither benevolent nor cruel. The other outsiders here will move on by necessity, and only the graves of Laymnia, Uryndil and myself shall remain; our bodies will return to nature with the rest of the remains, even those of the tower, as the vines and undergrowth reclaim this spot. I forged this place from the wilderness with your mother and Lamynia, and I will watch it revert to how it once was as I wait for my meeting with the Goddess. I have accepted it. I'm ready." Unlike Cecilia, Celonia had not a single hint of falsity behind her claims of death preparedness.

Cecilia held her face motionless as her elder's confidence inspired her with a measure of self-control. "We plan on visiting next year…but I don't think you'll be here."

Velonia whimpered openly, no longer able to hold back, and although they didn't know each other well, she leaned in to Khujand as he patted her on the back, the two of them wishing they could intervene but knowing it was not their place to do so.

Celonia thumbed the subtle discoloration marking where Cecilia had altered her facial tattoos. "Nor do I. And I do not accept Velonia to stay here after my body passes away, either - the both of you must move on. Do not allow the past to consume you - especially you, Isurith," she said to Cecilia, addressing her by the only name they knew. Celonia turned toward Khujand. "You take good care of this woman, ancestor," she said with a wry smile despite discussing her own impending death. "Ignore any racism you face - I know the truth because I lived it. We are you, and we are mortal now. Mortal...thank the Goddess…the utmost of thanks, for ending our curse. We have joined the rest of the planet, and will grow up and grow old. You take care of this woman, ignore what people say, and you grant her as many children as she wants without complaining."

They all shared a laugh, even Velonia, as they said their final goodbyes. Velonia almost wouldn't let go of Cecilia until her mother pulled them apart, and the two greenheads stood side by side, Velonia playing with her own fingers the way she did as a child after her birth at the grove seven thousand years ago, Celonia smiling fully as she leaned back in her wheelchair, satisfied that she had been able to see one more of her youngers move on and accept their fate before she departed from the world to meet hers.

Looking back one last time from atop her hippogriff, Cecilia smiled at Celonia as well; this time, it wasn't fake on either of their parts.

"Goddess light your path," Cecilia said just before spurring the mount. "Please tell my mother that Unelia and I are okay."

Without a word more, Cecilia clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth and was off, Khujand trailing behind her as they circled and broke through the canopy, riding back to Raynewood Retreat to rest before seeing Vadia at the House of Edune and then the final destination of her sister's house in Astranaar.

Khujand did look back again, only to see the mother and daughter still standing there, watching the soaring couple until they all lost sight of each other. Catching up to ride side-by-side with his wife in silence, he could have sworn that he saw something caught in her eye.

 **A/N: This may be the most difficult thing I've ever written. The fact that night elves not getting immortality back and accepting ageing - as confirmed by canon now - only partially inspired this. Much of it was based on real life experience with dying communities, previously colonized and occupied peoples and shattered local cultures.**

 **For those interested, there is an epilogue specific to this chapter only on my Deviant Art account called "The End of Serenity." If you're crazy enough to hunt it down, bring the tissues.**

 **For those wondering about the other women of Serenity mentioned, they'll eventually appear in their own stories too. Note that only Vadia's as well as Delebria and Niorith's story will feature any romance; the stories of Silviel, Tirith et al. probably will not. Time will tell.**


	23. Meeting with Maya

**A/N: As was the case with Sodor, I literally spent hours researching real-life confrontations between torturers and their former victims for the encounter with Maya. Needless to say, not everybody reacts the same - or the way we would expect. My hope is that the chapter remains true both to the sort of emotions that come out of such meetings as well as the personalities of the fictional characters involved.**

Despite the patience one as ancient as her ought to possess, Cecilia had been unable to remain flying at a safe speed for literally half of the several hours of flying back to Raynewood. Eventually, she did slow down enough so that she and Khujand could make small talk. It helped to take her mind off of her ancestral grove's impending return to the soil from whence it came. There would be plenty of time to ruminate over it later - she even preferred it would be with him rather than anybody else - but that time had not yet come. On the way back, she only wanted to fly.

Flying higher than she had led them before and far beyond what her acrophobic husband was used to, she preoccupied herself by pointing out more landmarks to him. Their grove had never possessed a formal hippogriff roost of its own, but she had participated in sky patrols while on rotation at larger villages previously and held no apprehension about their altitude. The rolling hills covered in nothing but luscious, undisturbed forest still didn't fill her with as much awe as she wished it had, but it certainly did relax her. A number of sentinel watchtowers lied hidden within the tops of the taller trees, and she made a game of describing to Khujand the rough whereabouts of each one so he could guess at their exact locations. It helped pass the time and staved off heavier topics for most of the flight. By the time they saw the break in the canopy signaling the beginning of Raynewood Retreat, they hadn't even resorted to counting constellations yet.

As their hippogriffs circled and began to land, Cecilia noticed a number of people waiting on the flight platform, but not in order to depart. Watchers had apparently spotted them, and Melyria was already waiting for them at the flight point by the time they landed.

"Ishnu alah, sister," Melyria said before the hippogriffs had even secured their footing. "We've been expecting you!"

Suspicious at the captain's impatience, Cecilia scanned the area for anything amiss as the flight mistress helped her down from her mount. There didn't appear to be any unnecessary troop movement and there weren't any unfamiliar faces waiting to square off with them; all was at peace.

"Ishnu dal dieb Captain Frostshadow," Cecilia replied cautiously. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course - soldier, please take the guests' bags for them - yes, everything is fine," Melyria said while directing some of the fresh one hundred year olds to earn their keep.

Khujand followed nonchalantly, the warm reception he'd received in Serenity causing him to forget that not everyone at the Raynewood military camp was totally comfortable around him. As he descended from the flight platform, he swept right past a markedly younger looking sentinel-druid couple - Cecilia had taught him how to tell the difference between night elf generations by behavior - without paying attention to how closely he had moved toward them. The sentinel reared her glaive arm back while the druid gripped his staff even more tightly, and a few of the other new recruits passing by the flight point stopped to watch the oblivious outlander as he ambled over to the captain. She shot them a stern, 'get back to your business' sort of expression before turning to the couple in front of her.

"Mr. Hearthglen, Shael'dryn had requested that she be able to show you our local moonwell - it's just up the hill next to the stone watchtower," Melyria told him while pointing to the excited dryads waving with both hands like a bunch of children. "Why don't you go listen to the story of how it was established while I pick your wife's brain on some professional matters?"

Not appearing to suspect a thing - dryads did tend to make odd requests and loved being the ones to show a visitor something new for the first time - Khujand made off toward the hill. "Ya go ahead and take ya time, I know ya might have rotations and logistics ta discuss," he answered. "Cici, ya gonna come find me, or should I follow after a bit?"

Cecilia noticed Melyria's rapid eye movement and took the hint. "I'll look for you when it's time for lunch. Don't feel tied down there - if Shael'dryn decides she needs to show you interestingly shaped trees or unusually large mushroom patches, feel free to go ahead," she chortled as the dryads snuck up behind her husband and literally dragged him toward the moonwell.

"We found unusually large patches of mushrooms growing into the side of an interestingly shaped tree!" the leader of the Laughing Sisters laughed as the group dropped out of listening distance.

Turning back to Melyria, Cecilia leaned in close. "What's wrong?" she asked, almost giving Melyria pause with her directness.

"Follow me down the bend," the captain answered as she led the former sentinel on a narrow path winding out of the camp.

The pair walked in silence, roving off the beaten path at the edge of the cleared area and among the trees, slowing down only when they were away from everyone else. The woodlands were a bit denser here, and the night sky was no longer visible. Melyria wore a look of concern, and though her voice was quiet, it was also rushed.

"Sister Hearthglen, I don't know what your husband did while with the Horde. I won't ask and am probably better off not knowing," the captain started ominously. "But someone came to see me while you were gone. As the Laughing Sisters have spread the word that a retired sentinel married a reformed Darkspear granted right of entry to Kaldorei settlements, so have descriptions of him. Such permissions and visitations are becoming more common with members of Horde races in the Cenarion Circle and their work with the Earthen Ring, but not common enough to avoid being noticed."

"I get it, Captain Frostshadow-"

"It's Melyria here. Please."

"Alright, sister Melyria," Cecilia smirked, unperturbed by the news. "Somebody might remember a Darkspear who wronged them at one point or another. That's fine. If they want to meet him, they can, but I doubt he is who they think he is," she said with false confidence. As Irien had advised her, she tried to simply bury the issue; Khujand had repented and regretted his crimes in a way few would understand. She didn't want someone who hadn't yet moved on mucking up their vacation.

"Sister Hearthglen-"

"It's Cecilia, please," she joked."

Melyria yelped through her nose in frustration. "Cecilia…you're from Serenity. Your former commander there was Maya Ironwood, correct?"

"Yes, but why…I…oh Goddess…"

Slack-jawed, Cecilia found nothing to say in response to Melyria, a state she knew she might have to snap out of very soon if this inquiry was what she feared it was.

Maya was not only the commander of Serenity before they left for Silverwing; she had been Cecilia's individual battlefield captain. Cecilia had been captured by the Warsong Outriders first and then Maya shortly thereafter, both of them serving their time at the Mor'shan Rampart jail. Khujand, then the jailer and interrogator, had tortured Maya for information on Silverwing troop movements. She eventually cracked when he'd gone too far, scaring him so much that he'd actually given her emergency medical care.

Though his treatment of the captain hadn't been gruesome, it had triggered a strong reaction even when he resuscitated her and ended up traumatizing her in the process. She actually clung to him for safety at first despite him having been her tormenter, an exchange that affected them both psychologically; the other prisoners, Cecilia included, had been confounded when he gently led her back to her prison cell and almost apologized to her.

Upon her release after a ransom paid by a dwarven negotiator, Maya's situation didn't improve. Her confession of the exact troop movements after an experience that would have broken even a Burning Legion demon had led to her demotion from captain to private. The lowest of the low. The odd night elf that had been born outside of the main generations resulting from the druids waking up for wars en masse, such as the mere fifty year olds, served at the same rank as Maya, a proud soldier born in Eldarath thirteen thousand years prior. When she returned to Silverwing headquarters, she was publicly humiliated, but unlike Cecilia whose humiliation was internal due to her inner rejection of the praise heaped on her, Maya's was intentional. Thankfully, Cecilia hadn't been there - shouldn't have watched - to see Maya stand in front of her former subordinates as Gwynneth, her replacement, callously removed her insignia and ordered her publicly lashed. Such punishments were banned a few months later by General Shandris Feathermoon, but the damage had already been done; Maya disappeared into the rank and file of the Sentinel Army elsewhere, her grown children never searched for her and her infant grandson never got to know her.

Everything she had worked for during the millennia had been lost because of a single night. And Khujand, Cecilia's love, was the cause. Maya had begun to regret the atrocities she had committed with Silverwing just like Cecilia had, but would she be able to let go of her anger toward her former captor as easily as Sodor did?

How would she react to Cecilia for marrying that captor - a man whose actions led to her fall from grace?

Gulping visibly, Cecilia spoke with a shaky voice after having been jovial just a few seconds ago. "What did Maya tell you?" she asked.

"She just asked if the descriptions of you and your husband are accurate and if you mentioned Serenity," Melyria replied. "I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but she was very insistent that she see you in private…as well as Khujand."

"Okay…okay…so wait, is she here in Raynewood now?" Cecilia asked urgently.

"She's in the area. I don't know her, but she seemed a bit closed off and content to spend more time with her sabre than the other troops."

A moment passed and Melyria left Cecilia to collect her thoughts. There really would be no avoiding it. Like Celonia, Velonia and the others, Cecilia had spent thousands of years with Maya. She truly did want to see her again, but she feared both her friend's judgment of her marriage as well as seeing her former commanding officer possibly having reached an ignoble point in life.

Wiping her face with her hands, Cecilia acquiesced to the inevitable. "Please let me see her, Melyria. I can bring my husband after a moment, but I want to see her alone first. Totally alone."

"I expected as much," Melyria sighed with relief. "So did she. I really don't know what I would have done if you said no. Just wait here; I'm going to go to her little solitude spot and tell her. She'll come from that direction," she instructed while pointing to a different winding path through the trees. "And I'll wait back from where we came. When it's Khujand's turn, call me and I'll bring him." With that, the captain disappeared between the tree trunks, leaving Cecilia alone with her thoughts.

What would she say? Khujand didn't even know what to say to Sodor and their connection was much, much less complicated. That the druid had been so ready to leave his anger in the past was heartening, but he never explained what he meant about blaming his problems on Khujand and his life getting worse for it; there was no way to know if his surprising lack of aggression would be shared by any of the jungle troll's other victims.

The stories Cecilia had heard about Maya during her brief stay in Astranaar, before leaving for Booty Bay, were not good. Her confession led to the Silverwing Refuge being partially burned. Like other scandals or embarrassments to the honor of the dignity-obsessed Sentinel Army, it was swept under the rug and suppressed. Maya likely lived a relatively normal life in another province as just another displaced sentry at a lonely huntress lodge on an isolated highway somewhere. Even Velonia hadn't known what happened and nobody ever tried to contact her children or grandchild. Aside from her betrayal and corporal punishment by their former friend, nothing was known for sure.

But one thing, Cecilia did know for sure.

She stood in a small clearing, barely large enough to fit half a dozen people. Her vision was obscured by tree trunks, but even with that winding path, she was sure.

That same navy blue ponytail flapped in the air behind a straight, upright back refusing to droop down. Bright silver eyes glowed in the dark, refusing to drop their gaze toward the ground. Footsteps that were light but not meek strode forward, and a face that betrayed no emotion stayed level.

After all those years, it was still her commander, no matter what sort of demotion she had been dealt. It was still Captain Ironwood in Cecilia's eyes.

"Maya!" she cried out, temporarily forgetting the apprehension that had gripped her moments ago.

Leaning down due to the height disparity, Cecilia hugged on to her former superior tightly, not letting go until she realized that she wasn't being hugged back. Releasing her, Cecilia stepped back and held on to Maya's shoulders for a moment before finally letting go. The former captain and current private tilted her head in confusion, examining the taller woman's features closely.

"Are you Isurith?" she asked as though they barely knew each other.

"Maya, it's me!" Cecilia exclaimed, her joy outweighing her anxiety. "I changed my name and, you know, some other things. I - oh! Maya!" Her cry was loud by her standards, but the shock was too much for her.

How fast did the joy disappear when Maya's tilted head revealed the full extent of the now banned corporal punishment she had been afflicted with.

Donning the half-helmet common to mounted huntresses up to the Third War, Maya's hair and the lower half of her face were visible just like with Cecilia's half-helmet. Her very light purple skin was still unaged despite her having been three millennia old at the beginning of immortality, though her navy blue hair did bear silver streaks signifying her wisdom in their culture. That hair was still tied back into the same nondescript ponytail she had always sported, and as she tilted her head, Cecilia spotted one full ear poking back from the left side of her head…

…and half a clipped ear from the right side.

"You have changed considerably, Isurith. Or Cecilia, I suppose it is now," Maya droned flatly in a monotone manner which Cecilia found unnerving.

Yet she pressed on; experiencing much of the same emotions she felt upon seeing Serenity, except with the negative overriding the positive. "Maya, this is wrong!" she whimpered without tears. "General Feathermoon banned these practices! How did this happen?"

"She banned them, yes," Maya affirmed. "After the fact. Though I doubt my case had anything to do with it; it was more the moral shaming of our people by the Alliance we found ourselves a part of due to the corporal punishment issue." She turned her head to the side without tilting, but other than that was amazingly still. "Some people only believe in defiling those on the other side, I suppose. I resent many of the changes the Alliance forced upon us as part of joining their faction, but I can't say I resent that one."

Flabbergasted, Cecilia tried to piece together what she knew about Maya's case with what she saw in front of her. "I know about the flogging...lashes were a part of the old ways. But..." She reached to cup Maya's cheek in her palm, stopping short when her former commander leaned away. "...this..."

"You're old enough to be aware of such rare punishments, Isu...Cecilia. I. Believe a few dozen clippings were carried out in Ashenvale alone during the Vigil."

Cecilia cringed at the term _clipping_. "I knew about the lashes, but this isn't justified. You were under duress, you were valiant in the face of threats, you-"

"Gave away troop positions; I gave away troop positions."

"You had mitigating factors which pressured you!"

"That didn't matter to Gwynn."

For a good few seconds, Cecilia grit her molar teeth and stumbled through the stages of denial. For millennia, Gwynneth had been her best friend at Serenity; they were both cavalrywomen and were often teamed together. She knew the woman was vile deep down inside, but she didn't want to believe that she'd let herself become the sidekick of such a person.

Though Maya didn't cock an eyebrow, she appeared almost amused. "Are you surprised? Were you not aware that Gwynn coveted my position for so long?"

"Yes, I...she said things. Things that hinted at that," Cecilia replied, disingenuously at that due to her lingering shock. "But even if she replaced you, it isn't the place of a newly promoted captain to deliver cruel and unusual punishments."

"Cruel and unusual...but still on the books at the time. Nobody there ranked highly enough to question her after my fall. She..." Maya paused, but didn't become emotional. The blank expression on her face made her confession appear all the more unstable. "She deputized some youngblood from Darkshore, had her ladies corner me after I was ejected from the lodge, and...left her mark."

That blank expression held, putting up an award-winning façade. But Cecilia had been around for too long, and knew Maya too well, to miss the subtle twitch in the former captain's lower left eyelid. To even mention the incident out loud obviously took a lot of power, and likely left Maya feeling mentally exhausted so early into their reunion.

"Maya…I…please come here," Cecilia panted, trying to hug her former commander one more time, though the shorter elf remained stiff. "It's still me, and you're still you!" Refusing to let go this time, she struggled to regain her composure before overwhelming her long lost friend. "Talk to me, please!"

Scratching at a non-existent itch in the air where the tip of her right ear used to be, Maya merely stared into Cecilia's dim, faded eyes. "So is it true?" she asked, her intent perfectly clear. "You married him?"

"Let me explain Maya, please," Cecilia pleaded. "For the year or so he committed such evil, he spent six years in an evil prison on his own sentence. He also suffered, was also defiled, is also scarred. He hates what he did and what he had become, so much. He…" For reasons she didn't understand, she felt herself lose the ability to speak, regaining her neurological functions again after a few seconds. "He loves his victims. He told me that. He thought of you all every day in prison, and invented these imaginary worlds in his head where you would move on and become successful, and he'd make up stories about your everyday joys. It was all he could do to prevent his crimes from driving him insane."

Maya only stared, and Cecilia stopped talking when she found herself unable to tell if her words were helping or hurting. She held Maya by the shoulders, inspecting the private's face for any hint of emotion but finding nothing.

"I need to see him," Maya stated without passion. Cecilia waited for her to perhaps say more, but she only continued staring.

Noticing with relief that Maya's weapons were absent, Cecilia whistled for Melyria. Her anxiety was crushing, but she knew this had to happen, for both Maya and Khujand.

* * *

The big blue man had been briefed on the introverted private's questioning and condition as he followed Melyria through the wood. He almost had difficulty squeezing his shoulders between the trees at some points, and the delay was much welcome. Khujand had faced down Sodor with surprisingly little panic despite having expected to break down when confronted with one of his former charges. Perhaps it was Sodor's recalcitrant nature, or Cecilia's retelling of how many war crimes the druid had committed himself, but their showdown had been much easier than Khujand had expected, emotionally speaking.

The former Captain Ironwood was an entirely different case, however. Not only had he gone too far when interrogating her, but he had brought her back from the brink; the way she clung to him so tightly, fearing him less than death, had affected him more than any of his other charges. As he trotted behind Melyria quietly, he could already feel the pressure building up behind his eyes as the muscles in his face strained. He didn't know how he would make it through this.

Cecilia's loving support had long ago helped him get over his desire to endure suffering; it served no purpose and didn't alleviate the pain of his victims. The guilt would remain with him on some level until the day he died, however, no matter how many good deeds he performed. It was permanent, and even direct forgiveness from a victim - something he felt he didn't deserve anyway - wouldn't have dispelled it entirely. But it could be reduced to a manageable level; a level such that he lived with a bearable amount of deserved pain, but could still be happy in life without the sense that he was undeserving of normalcy. That normalcy suddenly felt very threatened.

His heart rate had already increased to an uncomfortable level by the time his voodoo alerted him to the presence of two other sentients. Would she hate him? Would she scream? Would she wish death upon him? Khujand tried to imagine an angry elf just wanting closure and help moving on, but was it wishful thinking? Did he deserve such an easy resolution?

Standing upright and loose, Cecilia's dark azure hair poked up from behind Melyria's head and he knew it was time. As they entered the clearing, he could tell there was another person there and immediately trained his vision to a rock on the ground on the other side of the clearing. Melyria shared a few words with Cecilia before the two turned back to the beaten path. He watched their feet pace away and disappear, leaving him facing a pair of metal boots.

"We're just over here," the captain said as the two walked away. Not another word and they were off, though still within earshot.

Silence overtook the two left behind. Though he refused to look up at first, Khujand could feel Maya's blank expression focusing on him, displaying what seemed to be nothing other than mild curiosity.

He reached and ran a hand over the back of his neck, looking desperately for anything to occupy himself with. His resolution drained out of him quickly and he knew that, just like half a week ago, he would not be able to endure the silent treatment were his former victim to go that route. The oppressive silence was killing him; he had to say something to at least breathe.

"I'm so sorry," he began weakly. "I'm not sayin' that cause I wanshyu ta forgive me. But cause ya deserve it, and…I never thought I would-"

"Do you remember?" she interrupted with a volume in her voice that sounded unintentional. She had been stoic a second before, but from her first sentence she sounded like she was suppressing something trying to crawl out. He didn't like it. "Do you remember what you did?"

This time it was Khujand's turn to fall silent, though not from stoicism, as he tried to act; reaction had simply been absent as he tried to process her change in demeanor.

"Yeah…I did somethin' horrible. Somethin' I'm never gonna forget," he breathed out. "Capt…Priva…um…Ironwood, I can't even exp-"

"You led me in to your torture chamber, yes?" Maya asked rhetorically, eschewing introductions and not even leaving him enough time to take in the fact that she was really there, standing right in front of him. "I wasn't able to fight back. Do you remember, when we walked through the door? You opened it and led me through first?"

"Look, Ironwood, ya don't gotta relive this," Khujand cautioned. "I remember how wrong I did. I hate it. I hate that man, but that isn't tha person here in front of ya. Not anymore."

She allowed him to finish his sentence that time, but not to start anew. "There was a bucket of water in that chamber. Do you remember?" she asked insistently. "It was the first thing I saw. You walked me through the door and there was a bucket of water."

"Maya, please, if ya just listen ta me, I can explain somethin' that might…ya never gotta forgive me, but it's for ya own peace of mind."

"You closed the door behind us and latched it shut," she continued, ignoring him entirely. "Do you remember? The sound that the latch made? Do you remember how I hesitated when I saw the bucket?"

Had he enough strength left in his limbs, Khujand might have ran away right at that point. Perhaps he could have told Cecilia they finished their discussion and Maya would feel too embarrassed to say otherwise to someone other than him. But he was unable. Finding his nose congested despite not having any allergies, he breathed through his mouth until he felt it pass, staring right back at Maya.

Her eyes glowed a healthy silver now. He had seen the whites of her eyes once, before bringing her back. The pupils and irises of an elf were usually obscured from view, unless they were either dead, dying or suffering from health issues, such as Cecilia's withdrawl after having kicked her drug habit years ago. No, Maya's eyes glowed normally, but there was something there. Khujand knew where she was looking, almost as if he could sense her - the same way he could usually only do with family members or people he knew very well. His hands trembled as he found a person he had wronged in a lasting sense standing in front of him, looking right back at him, giving him no avenue of escape; he could not avoid what had happened. And as the muscles in her face began to strain in tandem with his, she still made no move to attack him, or insult him, or make any aggressive moves. She was intent on something else.

"You pushed me forward without roughness, toward the bucket," she recounted to the speechless man in front of her. "Do you remember, how you made me kneel down? Before you tried to ask me for information?"

Choked by his shame, Khujand tried to say something but his throat felt dry despite him having chugged a bottle of water before Melyria had found him. What he had intended to say, he did not know, and the lump in his throat blocked his words and the air intake simultaneously. Maya waited for him to answer at first, before he saw her fall apart.

"I didn't tell you at first, yes? I held out, I performed my duty," she…almost laughed. Her mouth appeared to have a slight smile but her long eyebrows were arched in pain. "And you performed yours, didn't you? Do you remember what you did, when I wouldn't speak to you?"

"Ironwood, why're ya doin' this?" he finally managed to ask. It felt selfish to think of his own pain when she had the right to say anything to him she wanted, but he felt the panic rising within him as the image burned into his mind. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, and ya never, ever deserved what I did. But ya don't gotta relive this."

Falling on deaf ears, his words didn't even seem to register as she became even more unhinged. "You held me by the back of my neck. Do you remember, _Khujand_?" she asked with his new name, thankfully avoiding his old name, at least. "You pushed my head under the water in the bucket. When my head was under the water, I couldn't breathe. If a person can't breathe, they die. Do you remember doing that?" Maya smiled even wider and her eyes reflected both hurt and even fear, despite Khujand's obvious sense of defeat and even manic depression like what he had seen in his wife the other day at Serenity. "Do you remember how I thrashed, when I couldn't breathe?"

"Why're ya doin' this Maya!" he cried. "Whashyu want, just tell me! Do ya wanna drown me too? Do ya wanna kick me in tha teeth, do ya want me ta cry and beg ya forgiveness? Whashyu wanna achieve by goin' through this all over again?"

"Yes, you remember, don't you?" she said with a nod. It would have almost seemed exaggerated had she not appeared so disturbed. "You held me…here," she recalled while placing one hand on the back of her own neck. Reaching forward, she tried to take Khujand's hand in hers and despite his power, he couldn't resist quite enough as she pulled his hand to replace hers on her neck. "Do you remember this feeling? Holding the back of my neck? Do you remember pushing my head down into the water?"

Tears fell from the eyes of both fallen soldiers at the same time the trembling started, and Khujand knew she was aware that it was as traumatic for him as it was for her. "Whashyu want me ta say, please!" he cried again. "Just tell me what I gotta do and I'll do it! I know ya were tha victim but please believe me, this was hell for me too! I had ta live with tha memories, every night I spent in prison! I lived with ya ghost for tha longest time, wishin' ya could get better on day. Just tell me whashyu need me ta do!"

"Do you remember how long I held my breath for?" Maya laughed-cried as she held his hand to the back of her neck. "How I had nearly lost consciousness the first time you pulled my head back out of the water? You held my neck back so I could only see the ceiling, and you asked me more questions. Do you remember doing that, Khujand?"

"Maya, I told ya, I can't forget! I relived that night so many times!" He tried to pull his hand away, yet somehow the elf who literally only weighed half as much as him held on, much more determined than he.

"You held me like this when you pushed my head back down. You gripped my neck right on this part when you held me under again," she choked out as the skin near her eyes already started to darken. "Do you remember when you broke me, Khujand? Do you remember the moment I screamed under the water? Yes, you do, don't you?" She nodded again as if to affirm the answer herself, appearing even more like a mental patient.

"Yes," he sobbed, screaming across time within himself as he pleaded for the memory to somehow change the past, "I remember hearin' ya voice muffled in tha water."

Eyes lighting up, his own defeat seemed to spur her on. "Do you remember when my thrashing slowed down? It was because I felt the water enter my nostrils. Up became down and I couldn't breathe. It went in my lungs. Tell me, do you remember when my back spasmed for the last time? Tell me!"

"I remember!"

"Do you remember when I stopped thrashing at all? Do you remember when my body went limp? Because I don't. I only remember what came after that." Maya clinched her teeth into a forced smile as her eyes appeared to mimic his sadness. Her body quaked the way a person's would when they were stifling laughter or stifling loud cries, and the expression on her face didn't give away which it was. "I saw black with blue swirls. Everything was moving but nothing else existed. I only saw a light. What did you see, Khujand?" She leaned forward as though she truly didn't know the answer.

"I saw tha swirls," the crying troll confessed. "I was right there with ya. Even if I was tha reason, I went ta get ya with my resurrection spell. Please believe me, I was tryin' ta bring ya back!"

"Did you see the light?" Maya sobbed, involuntarily digging her claws into Khujand's hand as she kept her grip.

"Yeah…I saw it, too. I saw ya goin' ta it at first." He panted, struggling to breathe as he tried to answer whatever she asked. "And I saw ya when ya knew I was there, but I didn't have a body. Ya looked like a smaller light, all blue."

"Like a wisp?"

Aside from their cries, a silence fell over them as they both remembered having visited the other side. She stepped closer to him when he didn't answer.

"Do you remember what I did, when I saw the light before me and you behind me? Can you see it now, all over again, when I was confused?"

"Ya were afraid," he sighed, almost feeling exhausted from his frazzled nerves. "I felt it. Ya were afraid of tha monster that killed ya, but ya were even more afraid of going' ta tha light. I felt…" His voice hitched again and he inhaled deeply, sucking his own mucous down his throat to breathe better. "Ya had people waitin' for ya back among tha livin', and that made ya fear goin' inta tha light. I felt it, and I had ta reach for ya. I didn't have no limbs but I reached for ya. I killed ya, and then I had ta save ya even though I was tha one that put ya in that place ta begin with."

"Do you remember when I went back?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. There wasn't anger, but there was an edge to it in addition to her manic state, something hard beneath the sobbing mess. "Do you remember when I sought help from the one who killed me?"

Maya moved forward until she was right up next to him, and the memory of how he clung to her after bringing her back, how relieved he felt when she wasn't permanently dead, washed over him the way the drowning water had washed over her. For reasons neither would ever understand, Khujand hugged Maya close, almost to the point of hurting her physically, and she hugged him back. She should still hate him; she had every right. And yet just like when she died, and found herself lost in some otherworldly realm with her afterlife before her and her apologetic murderer behind her, she clung to him too.

"You ruined my life," she croaked.

"I never wanted that!" Khujand whimpered. "I hate the man that did that ta ya even more than ya could!"

"But it was you…"

"I swear, that person is dead and gone; his own sins killed him." Despite having had a flashback of his own mother those years ago when he clung to Maya after casting his resurrection spell, he held her now the way he had held his daughter once, like a bad father apologizing after overreacting at one of his own children. "Please believe me, tha person that did that ta ya got his. For six years, he suffered for what he did ta ya and others like ya."

"Everything was ruined, everything I built so carefully for ten thousand Goddess damned years," Maya rambled while still clinging to Khujand as though he were bringing her back from the dead all over again. "In one night after I returned, my rank and decorations I earned during the Vigil were taken from me. I am the lowest of the low-"

"Ya reacted tha same way anybody would, in fact ya let some piece of shit torturer kill ya first without even crackin'," he whimpered, begging her to understand.

"They all turned their backs on me as I walked out of the Refuge. That was even worse than the flogging that had come before. They took my confidence, my position, what I dedicated my life to!"

"I went through that too, Maya! Ya didn't suffer from someone who hurt ya with impunity! That doesn't take away what happened, that doesn't make it alright, but there is a sense of justice in tha world." Khujand pulled his head back, looking down at his former victim, speaking as closely as he would to family member despite not knowing the woman at all. "I don't know why I'm talkin'; I'm not askin' for forgiveness, but I want ya ta understand. Evil people like how I was don't get away with their sins forever. Look at this."

He moved back and ran a finger along the four-inch, sawed-off knubs that were once long, proud tusks - a symbol of his shame recognized by other trolls and even a large number of other races familiar with their ways.

"I never regret what they did ta me at prison, cause I know it's tha least tha universe could do ta make things up ta ya," Khujand panted, regaining a bit of control over his voice as Maya's face softened - not so much in joy at what he was saying as understanding over what happened to him. "I wish I could say somethin' ta make it better or reverse what ya went through. I wish I could replace what ya lost, but I can't do that. I can only tell ya that tha man that hurt ya went through it, too."

As the two of them calmed down across a few painfully tense moments, their breathing returned to normal. Tear streaks dried up as they stepped apart, Maya's right ear stub twitching as though there was an itch. They did not feel the same as each other - it was not like Khujand's reunion with Cecilia. With her, he had shared an emotional bond after smuggling his fellow war criminal out of prison. Maya was guilty like them both, but the connection was different - much, much worse. More personal than what Khujand had experienced with Sodor, lacking the attraction he and his wife had for each other and with a whole other level of negativity. And yet when Maya looked at him after their mutual breakdown, he sensed not an ounce of hatred radiating from her.

"I'm glad for what happened to you," Maya sniffled, much more composed than just moments ago. "Isurith - Cecilia, I guess - told me what you went through in prison. I'm glad you did. I'm glad you were oppressed, and for longer than you oppressed others. I'm glad they cut off your tusks with a hot iron. But…"

She tilted her head again as she looked for the words to express herself, and Khujand felt much of his fear leave him. The threat of moral shaming chilled him far more than the threat of violence could - very few people could threaten him physically - but she had chosen not to do so. They had not spoken more than her confession of Silverwing troop movements a decade ago, and yet they interacted now as though they had been aware of each others' suffering all along.

"But I'm not angry any more. I was for so many years," she said, signs of stress apparent in her voice. "I sat awake at night at the various huntress lodges that would take me in for assignments, places where nobody knew me and I had no fear of being hazed or thrown a blanket party in the bunks for having cracked during interrogation. I do blame you for my being cut off from my children and grandson for a few years. That was because of you; Gwynn was merely an opportunist who wouldn't have had the guts to take the first step on her own. And maybe people who didn't go through what we all did at that place - Warsong and Silverwing both - can understand, but I blame you without feeling angry anymore. YOU are the reason I had to live from lodge to lodge, patrolling the lonliest highways I could find. YOU are the reason I didn't see my grandson again until he had forgotten who I am. YOU are the reason that an Army which respected me for ten millennia tossed me away because of one night."

She wiped her eyes with her hands, sniffling again as she appeared coherent once more. Certainty returning to her, the hard edge to her voice subsided as she let out feelings Khujand sensed she had pent up for a very long time, perhaps not even telling the family she had apparently - thankfully - been reunited with at some point.

"I don't forgive you for what you did to me and to the life I built," Maya stated plainly but not angrily. "And I will always blame you for it. But...I don't hate you. I can't. Hating you destroyed me. Those nights I sat awake cursing you, I felt myself begin to hate life itself. Nothing brought me joy, not even my hobbies, not even the taste of food. My hatred consumed me until it was my existence. I was patrolling a highway in Felwood when it changed." She breathed heavily, still composed but appearing to have some difficulty speaking.

She paused, not elaborating on her vague pronoun usage. "What changed?" Khujand asked her, the need to know causing his voice to sound rushed.

"Felwood is corrupted. The grass is brown, much of the forest is rotting. Even the fungus has fungus. I had been on...patrol. I sought patrol in that place, because nobody ever wants to be stationed in Felwood. And I just rode, and rode until I could be away from anything living. I rode until my sabre and I were exhausted, and I stopped by one of those twisted, rotting trees, corrupted by fel power, and I rested. The green air was foul like my heart. I felt at home. I laid my hand on a stump, like this." Maya swept her hand in the air over some imaginary protrusion from an imaginary stump. "And I felt something silky. Something soft. Something that didn't belong in Felwood. And I looked down…it...was a peacebloom. They don't grow in Felwood, but I know it was real. This old tree had collapsed because the corruption had eaten its core way. It was scarred, tortured and sullied by its surroundings, but a peacebloom - such a delicate flower - was growing out of it."

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, but Maya didn't appear disturbed like before. Half her mind appeared to be elsewhere, but she was as coherent as anyone else. "Maybe others would scoff, but I stared at that flower growing from a rotted stump in a rotted forest for a long time. I had been that stump; felled by circumstance beyond my control. But I could choose to let that flower bloom from the rotting wood. I wanted to. I wanted that flower to bloom inside so badly, and I realized that my hate was stopping me." Without wiping her tears away this time, she looked up at Khujand. "Even if you hadn't repented, I would feel the same. I can't hold on to my hurt and let it consume me. The Goddess deemed that I live on after the war crimes I committed as well, and after being tortured, for a purpose. I don't question it, but I can no longer bear to spend what little time I have left in mortality with a rotten heart corrupted through circumstance."

Two crying criminals, once on opposite sides, stood at ease in front of one another. A decade ago, had they met in this place, they would have moved to kill one another; when they met in Khujand's jail, he literally did so before resurrecting her. And then, at that time, in that place, the two of them stood as two guilty individuals, once rotted but trying to recover and salvage what they could of their lives. They did not share each others' feelings, nor did they entirely understand each other, but Khujand could feel something not as powerful as peace but resembling it settling down in the clearing.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was too quick.

"Cecilia told me much while Melyria was looking for you," Maya said. "The extent of your remorse, about you suffering torture in prison as well, and how she and you ended up together. I don't pity you at all, and I will never forget what you did, but she is an important person in my life - even after all this time. I do blame you, but I've stopped hating you - now and forever, you have my word. As far as I'm concerned, it's buried; we're both guilty and you just managed to get the best of me. I feel more neutral to you than anything. Perhaps one day, in another life, past the ever after, you and I might be able to be friends."

"We will, one day," Khujand sighed, guilt lingering in his voice but mixing with relief without either canceling the other out. "But for taday…I'm happy that ya moved on. I dreamed of my victims learnin' ta cope, but I never got ta meet any till I came here ta Ashenvale. Ta see ya now…I'm happy for ya, Maya. I hope only for tha best for ya."

Waiting only a moment longer as Khujand took out a hankerchief and ripped half of it off for Maya, the two chatted not warmly but at least cordially as they left the clearing and found Cecilia and Melyria on the main road. The two waiting women fell silent for a moment, unsure of what had transpired, but when Khujand flashed a sincere smile despite his bloodshot eyes, Cecilia returned the look as she gleaned everything she needed to know with one gaze at his eyes.

"Sister Ironwood, we hope that your discussion went as desired," Melyria said with her hands folded in front of her, eyes darting nervously between the gaunt night elf and overgrown jungle troll.

"It did," Maya answered flatly.

Cecilia held hands with both Khujand and Maya, causing Melyria to grow wide eyed and search for something else in the area to fixate on. "Please stay with us Maya," the retired sentinel pined. "We're expecting a letter from my sister in Astranaar soon, but give me at least one day to catch up. There's so much we need to discuss, now that the topic of our parting is out of the way."

She started to lead the two away until turning to face the current captain. "Melyria, is there an extra room for Maya? I'd love for her to meet Shael'dryn and the others, and I'm sure it will be time to eat soon."

"What? Oh! Right, of course there's an extra room," Melyria blurted out. Turning to the former captain, she cleared her throat uncomfortably, and Khujand remembered that Maya had, at one point, held a higher rank than Melyria on paper. "Sister, we cannot allow you to leave without hosting a meal for you."

Crooking her head away, Maya looked taken aback. "No, Captain Frostshadow-"

"It's sister Melyria, please!"

"No, I can't, I mean…" Maya appeared just as uncomfortable. "I can't expose…I mean, impose! I can't impose!"

"It's already decided," Cecilia chuckled as she dragged both Maya and Khujand along. "We won't let you leave. Please, my sister's letter might even arrive before moonset; you can't just leave now!"

"Oh…alright," Maya said with a shy, nearly subdued tone as Khujand noticed her half-ear darken up to the cut. She leaned closer to his wife, speaking low without realizing he and probably Melyria could hear her. "Please keep the people's attention away from me. I'm still not used to being in public…I'm just not."

Laughing her reassurance, Cecilia lead the group back up the hill to relax. Thankful that his dreams of his victims moving on from his evil had come true in at least one case, Khujand sighed out loud, glad for the opportunity to have seen the former Captain Ironwood again though suddenly apprehensive about who else he might meet in the lands of the Kaldorei.


	24. The House of Edune

Cecilia facepalmed so hard that her claws left marks on her face. Hunched over the bench behind the Raynewood post office tent, she would have appeared to a bystander only to be deep in thought. Khujand knew her too well, however, for the hurt to have slipped by him.

"Why is she doing this to me!" hissed into her hand as she tried to throw the letter. It merely twirled around in the air, landing right back in front of her on the picnic table the sentinels had moved outside of the tent itself.

"Cici, I don't think she meant anythin' by that short message," he reasoned while massaging the back of her neck. "I can tell from ya stories that she loves ya so much; maybe she's as anxious as ya are."

"You don't know her! You don't know the subtlety she mixes into everything!" Cecilia continued to hide her face behind her hand as she spoke, but she at least loosened up and leaned back into him as he sat sideways on the bench, wrapping his arms around her.

It had been another day before the reply from Unelia had arrived, waiting for them the morning after their last dinner with Maya. Despite having seen a number of battles herself, Melyria had proven to be an incredibly gracious, unjaded host, treating Cecilia and especially Maya with a kindness that belied her martial experience. Even more so than with the Shadow Hunter that once counted himself as a citizen of the Horde and reeked of voodoo, they readily accepted the quiet sentinel who was far too old for her low rank - Khujand felt that the others might have suspected that Maya had a past, but none of them prodded - and treated her like a returning comrade. The formerly distant, withdrawn elf even danced with the rest of the off-duty women and dryads in a closed tent after dinner, an act considered a rare and almost audacious sort of celebration saved only for friends and family in their culture. With her own two day leave complete, Maya had to leave to her own post once the moon rose, though not without promises from Melyria and Cecilia both to keep in touch.

The letter had already arrived by then, and the manic swing returned when Cecilia, having appeared so elated that Maya had coped, moved on and even had some form of understanding with Khujand, crashed hard upon reading her sister's letter for less than one minute.

"Cici, please let me see tha letter," he requested softly.

"No."

"We're gonna see her soon either way, just let me see it for a second!"

"Please, I'm asking you not to read it!"

"Please yaself, I'm askin' ya ta let me share this part of ya life with ya!"

Cecilia froze, stiffening again at this words. "That's not fair!" she pleaded. "Don't say it like - don't use that kind of wording!"

"We share everythin' girl, tha good and tha bad," he said as he hugged her tighter. "Please, even if it's bad, let me share in that with ya. Ya can't just keep this entire part of ya life away from me." He kissed her scalp, holding on to her but not snatching the letter away; he would not take it by force.

Acquiescing, she slid the letter next to him and leaned in, hugging around him and tucking her head beneath his chin - probably to avoid looking directly at him, he guessed.

"Let's see here…"

 _My sister,_

 _We're at the same place in Astranaar. Our treehouse number is 43. We should have no problems accommodating your visit at this time._

 _Take care,_

 _Unelia Swiftfoot_

"Well, that's kinda short, but it's nice that she added that it's no problem for us ta come," he said nonchalantly despite knowing exactly what was bothering her so much about the letter. What could he say, though?

"Take care? _Take care_?!" Cecilia sneered with a fake snarky voice that Khujand was sure didn't actually sound like her sister. " **My sister, take care**?"

"Cici, be nice," he crooned to her. "Ya know how much shock she must be in ta start hearin' from ya after almost a decade. She's gonna be cautious, naturally."

"I know where the house is!" she shouted into his arms. "I lived in that house for a few months! Irien writes letters to that house!"

"Look at it from her perspective: if she didn't tell ya where tha house is and maybe somehow ya forgot, her sister could end up wanderin' around town not knowin' where ta go-"

"Look at it from my perspective!" Cecilia shouted.

Waiting for a moment, Khujand tried not to push her. "Alright…?"

"Well, look at it!" she blurted out in frustration. "If family sticks together, how can she even say that there would be no problems accommodating us? How can she have the absolutely brash nerve to even add that, to even _think_ of adding that, when our entire society is built around family accommodating extended family as a custom?"

"I'm not defendin' her dear, I just-"

"Look at it from my perspective!"

"Okay Cici, but-"

"Look at it!"

"I'm lookin' at it!"

"Well good!"

"Alright-"

"Fine!"

He felt her heave against his bare chest once and then relax again, settling in to his hug as he ran his hand over her hair.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, girl."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm far, far too old to react like that."

"Stahp! I'm seriously not bothered, and nobody's too old ta get stressed out," he chuckled deeply. "Imagine if ya ever go with me ta Sen'jin Village one day; it's gonna be way more angsty than this. Just relax."

After hugging a little while longer, she pulled back and sat to face him. She was still a bit upset, but he could tell that it was mostly the initial shock upon reading the letter and would likely pass; she tended to recover from such anxieties over the past much quicker than he did.

"We have a lot to do over the next day," she said calmly. "It's going to be fun."

"It is, and we gonna enjoy this trip now that we're not worryin' about me gettin' arrested or anythin' while we're out here," he joked while leaning his elbow on the table.

"It's always more comfortable when you don't have to look over your shoulder!" She wrinkled her nose at him as she leaned her elbow on the table as well, seeming to put her anxiety over her sister's letter out of her mind. "You know my friend Vadia isn't going to let us leave the House of Edune without spending the night."

"I figured as much, given as how tha last two ladies at Serenity and even Melyria here wouldn't let us walk away without spendin' a few nights."

"Exactly. And then from there, we'll move on to Astranaar and…well, you get to meet your in-laws."

"It's been many years since I heard those words," Khujand admitted thoughtfully. "This time, by choice. Do ya think that Johan man is gonna take ta me?"

"Johan is very open minded. I mean, he left his own people to join ours and even converted to our religion. And he knows that at least one tribe of trolls - the Shadowtooth - fought under the banner of the Sentinel Army at Hyjal." Smiling as though she were remembering something, Cecilia stared at the branches swaying in the slight breeze. "And uncle Elindir is so accepting…I think he'll just be happy that I found someone who can deal with my irritability."

"Deal with it? I love it," he laughed as he took her hands in his. "Ya my warrior of tha knight."

"And you're my caveman!"

He helped her stand up even though she didn't need it and they walked back out to the moonstone road in front of the tent. They'd only been up two hours or so but the camp was already busy as the sentinels engaged in their regular rounds and drills. They had been informed the night before that Keeper Ordanus sent his apologies but couldn't see them off due to more meetings regarding the situation in Felwood, but had insisted that they return to see him before returning to the Barrens. Raynewood Retreat was quickly becoming a favorite place for both halves of the couple, and they had assured their hosts that they planned on returning whenever they came and went from Ashenvale - the hospitality was so generous that they almost felt guilty about it.

"We need to write to Irien letting her know that we'll probably be in Astranaar long enough for her to write back, and to Unelia to let her know we're spending probably a night in the House of Edune and then coming to see her," Cecilia explained in her clinical sentinel voice as they got down to business. "We also need to find Melyria and Shael'dryn - they'll want to walk us to the flight point."

Khujand eyed his wife suspiciously, still thinking of her earlier outburst. "Why don't ya let me handle tha letter writin' and ya can search through tha camp for our hosts?" he suggested wryly.

"You think I'm going to write a snarky reply to my sister, don't you?" she asked.

"Well, did ya plan on doin' that?"

"Kind of."

"Alright, we know what we gotta do then. Leave tha letterin' ta me…I know what ta say ta her."

"You do that, then. I'll get our bags and our hosts."

As Cecilia turned and headed back toward their hovel, Khujand stood in the middle of the road, watching her saunter away. He still wasn't used to the more revealing clothing common among the Kaldorei when compared to how everyone dressed in Ratchet. It was freeing on his part to no longer have to wear a shirt in public, but when he realized that he was staring at his wife like a hypnotized idiot he rushed into the post office tent. The elves of both genders seemed so used to skin that they never stared; he tried to play it off as though he had been gawking at something other than his wife's ass in public while a few bystanders gave him odd looks.

* * *

When Melyria had told them that the House of Edune was a more unspoilt, traditional Kaldorei settlement than Serenity, Cecilia hadn't realized what exactly she meant. The place apparently had no paved road leading to it, which made flying too difficult; the flight paths in northern Kalimdor depending on breaks in the canopy, and the priestesses and druids had worked in tandem shaping the landscape such that most major roads weren't entirely covered by the trees above and most major settlements had small openings to the sky where hippogriffs could fly through. The Edune family, however, had estsblished their settlement so far out of the way that Cecilia and her husband literally had to land with their flying mounts and leave them to gallop along the ground like sabres.

It's not that the hippogriffs weren't fast; in fact, they were quite speedy. But unlike the large cats, the half-bird half-horse things bounced up and down as they ran, making for an extremely bumpy ride.

"I think I see the gate of the village!" Cecilia shouted with shortened breaths as she took care not to bite her own tongue on accident.

"Oh sweet mercy!" Khujand cried out as he braced his hands on the mount's back and tried to hover above the saddle with his groin in the air. "Why tha fel wouldn't they grow a flight point here!"

"Judging by the - ouch! - comments by Shael'dryn, I think the inhabitants prefer it that way," she panted. "There are humans here but they're also Kaldorei-philes like Johan. People in places like this probably dislike urbanization - I don't think Vadia even visited Feathermoon Stronghold when she was stationed in Feralas. She's been to other villages, but never a full-blown town."

Bounding up and down, she could spy the presence of two large ancients on either side of the naturally grown wooden gate. To anyone else, they would have appeared to be oddly shaped rooted trees, but for night elf settlements big and small, the presence of the unrooted, mobile, powerful beings spelled safety and security. Holding her breath as the pair raced by, Cecilia released and sighed with relief as the ancients remained motionless, allowing her troll of a husband to pass into the grove.

The locals, however, were another issue entirely.

"Screeeech!" screeched a screeching tallstrider just inside the row of trees forming the village walls, the feathers on the back of its head ruffling as the sight of the approaching jungle troll.

"Halt!" shouted one of the recently appointed Edune sentinels, her glaive already at the ready as she readied herself before the pair of visitors on the main road. "Sister, state the business of this member of the Horde here!"

"Ishnu alah sentinel; please calm down," Cecilia said in her own sentinel voice. "Keeper Ordanus from Raynewood has granted my husband freedom of passage; did not the Laughing Sisters contact you?"

"Husband?" the sentinel asked incredulously while staring down the silent troll.

"Ishnu dal dieb; sentinel, please put the glaive away," an archer with dark purple hair said as she approached the group from a hiding spot in the underbrush. "The ancients did not prevent our sister's companion from entering. Their words must be true."

The gate guard peered out through the gate at the two motionless ancients on either side and relaxed her stance. Still appearing wary of Khujand, she removed herself from their path and stood next to the standoffish tallstrider, saying nothing. The archer held her hands out with her palms up, bowing her head politely.

"Our community does not receive many guests, and we're honored to see new faces," she said politely. "I'm Elenna of the Edune family; we built this house."

"I am Cecilia Hearthglen," the retired sentinel replied, ignoring the perplexed expression from the Edune sentinel at the sound of a clearly non-elven name. "This is Khujand, my husband, guest of Keeper Ordanus and friend of the Cenarion Circle and Earthen Ring. We've come to visit a comrade I served with during the Vigil over in Serenity."

Elenna's eyes lit up. "Oh, you're here for Vadia!" she exclaimed. "It's so good to see people other than explorers wanting to just grab samples of our herbs and leave without spending any real time. You can leave your mounts to roam the area freely with Goodie here. Please, let me show you around - I can't remember the last time we had real guests!"

As the surprisingly open archer led the couple away, the suspicious sentinel didn't even hide the fact that she was literally marching right behind Khujand as though he would turn hostile at any minute. Bristling at the perceived disrespect, Cecilia grabbed his arm and pulled him close to her as she flashed a dirty look over her shoulder, stopping the gate guard in her tracks.

Melyria hadn't been joking when she said that the House of Edune was a more traditional settlement than Serenity. As they chatted with their eager host, they learned that the village they now saw originally began as a single cottage guarded by a single small treant with no gate and only two mattresses. Though isolated, the Edune family were true pioneers and very traditional in the sense of their respect for the land, eschewing connections with the outside world save the human Dunadaire family who not only respected the balance but whose presence also staved off the new "diversity quotas" that Stormwind was trying to force upon Darnassus and the Exodar. What had begun as the crowded house of an endearingly tight-knit family was now a hamlet consisting of a sentinel checkpoint, small shrine, general work and craft pavilion, modest orchard-slash-garden and five houses, all surrounded by a naturally grown tree wall. All the architecture was Kaldorei, the structures spaced out, the entire area free of crowding and the signs of Alliance cities such as garbage bags and disorganized carts, crates and supplies absent. Despite never having heard of the place, Cecilia's heart swelled as she realized the fate of her own grove was only shared by some specific villages that had been swallowed by modernity, with the House of Edune and ostensibly others remaining untouched.

She had been so engrossed in multitasking between taking in her surroundings, holding on to Khujand lest any more guards accost him and keeping up with the friendly but seemingly lonely Elenna (Cecilia ended up doing more entertaining than their ostensible host) that she hadn't even noticed the two children playing with a panther that had risen in front of them defensively.

Cutting off the conversation, Elenna noticed the bristling cat and waved. "It's alright Becca, he isn't a member of the Horde," Elenna said to the panther with a big grin. "They're neutral."

Cecilia was so focused on the children - it was literally the first time in over three hundred years she had seen pureblood children of her own race up close - that she didn't notice the green swirls surrounding the panther. With a poof, her more traditionalist side was surprised to see one of the numerous night elf women who had respecced as druids after the Third War standing where the panther had been. Her dark blue hair was disheveled from the previous bristling, though she seemed much less aggressive upon hearing Elenna's reassurance.

The woman apparently named Becca looked Khujand's huge frame over, likely startled by the electric glow of his eyes that was rare in his kind. "Greetings, sister and bro…um…friend? Are you here to inspect our herb garden?"

"We're here for your village itself, actually," Cecilia replied. "I'm an old friend of Vadia's, and we heard this is a place where one can get a taste of our more traditional settlements." She admired the shrine they had set up next to the original house, sensing a warmth that had been nearly absent from her own ancestral village. "I can already see what people mean."

"Isurith!" called a familiar voice from the house the children were playing in front of, using Cecilia's birth name.

Standing on the porch with a bewildered look in her eyes was a night elf woman in civilian clothes. Her skin and hair were quite literally the exact same shade of lavender and her facial tattoos were so close in color that they almost weren't visible. She wore a simple ankle-length dress and short-sleeved shirt, and like most in the traditional settlements - even some sentinels with the bootless shin guards - she was barefoot. Before anyone could respond, she had already rushed down from the porch and taken the children in her hands, rushing over to meet the group.

"Vadia, it's been so long!" Cecilia exclaimed as she patted Khujand on the arm and waited for a bemused nod before leaving him with Elenna to rush forward. "Ten years, I only recently heard that you'd been out of Feralas!"

"Mommy, we want play Becca!" said the small girl with a fake scary voice as Vadia placed both children on the ground and nudged them toward Cecilia.

"Say hi to auntie, dear!" Vadia said to the struggling child. "Lamynia and Uryndil," she indicated with an almost sad look in her eye as she motioned to her daughter and son.

Cecilia's mouth dropped open speechlessly at first, and she hugged the two confused children a bit more tightly than she normally would have. "I still remember when you were born after the war in Silithus," she smirked to Vadia as the children ran after a butterfly. "You were as bossy as your little Lamynia is."

"And…ahem…um…your friend is an emissary? Or formerly Horde?" Vadia asked.  
"He's-"

"Her husband!" Elenna answered for her. "She's got jungle feeeeeever!" Her tone was almost song-like, and Cecilia and Vadia both nearly blushed while Khujand pretended to be interested in the butterfly as well.

"Um…thank you, Elenna, for the introduction," Cecilia said congenially to the woman she had literally only met a few years ago and was now making rather inappropriate jokes. "We met while fighting the Iron Horde in Draenor."

Vadia smiled knowingly, awkwardness lingering in her face despite her having always been the last person to judge others. "So…have you heard about...a certain someone?" she asked with a sly grin.

"I have," Cecilia chortled. "What can I say? Fate has a plan for all of us. And, well, there simply aren't as many of our own men around; it's inevitable that the eyes of some of us will wander elsewhere to avoid forever waiting." Before Elenna could jump in again, Cecilia's eyes lit up. "Not you, apparently - I hear you're married now? He's a Druid of the Talon, right?"

Although Vadia smiled, there was something else behind it other than warmth, and the conversation skipped a beat before continuing. "Yes, indeed Nelecar is. He's currently asleep in the Dream, but he flies in as often as he can escape his duties-"

"Hah!" yelled a human from somewhere off to the side with the same exact battle cry that all of them seemed to use.

Looking over, Cecilia saw a human with an Alliance tabard and light brown hair leaping in front of her husband in an overdramatized fashion. He appeared absolutely serious, as though he was the one who was going to get to the bottom of some diabolical Horde plot to infiltrate an isolated hamlet. Or actually wanted to duel her husband. The fact that the young man looked so serious made the situation even funnier, though she held back her laughter considering that, despite being an outlander, the man was obviously living with the locals; laughing at him would be considered improprietous.

"What sort of trickery is this?" the man demanded to know in Common. "There hasn't been any word of emissaries or the like!"

"Everything is fine, Mr. Dunadaire. This man is a neutral guest," Vadia assured the suspicious, overacting human.

"This is a troll!" he said with a look on his face like Vadia just wasn't getting it.

"Yes, my husband is a troll," Cecilia answered. "And you're a human. And we're elves."

The human's eyes grew wide. "Husb…what? Oh! Um…what?"

Becca stepped forward. "Thank you for your concern for out village's safety, Bill, but these are both visitors approved by the provincial authorities at Raynewood. They're friends and we're glad to have them with us."

The man cleared his throat and ended up causing himself to cough when he hadn't been before, fighting to speak. "Oh, Necabba - I mean, Becanna! Sorry, I'll keep that in mind. It's because of…" He suddenly switched into some overly formal, similarly exaggerated form of address. "We all must do our part to protect the House of Edune."

Before anyone else could intervene, Elenna started to move toward the human, and he became visibly uncomfortable. Her back was to Becca but she was facing Cecilia at such an angle that their exchange was audible.

"Did you hear that, William? Becca called you 'Bill' instead of your full name," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Grow up!" the man hushed out as he turned the color of a tomato. He turned to walk away, but Elenna followed him as she grinned and waved to Cecilia over her shoulder.

"Becca called you by a nickname. That's a term of endearment."

"Elenna, I'm serious!"

"Yes, we could all tell how serious you were by your territorial display back there. I think Becca was impressed."

"Really? You really think…Elenna, grow up!"

The pair continued to bicker until they walked out of sight, joining a elven man wearing the armor of a warrior but with the glowing eyes of a druid at the work pavilion. They appeared to be assisting him in fixing cookware, though from William the human's constant bristling, Cecilia could guess that Elenna was still teasing him. When she turned, she found that Khujand had sat on a public bench near a glade full of sleeping sabres as little Lamynia and Uryndil held their hands out for butterflies to land on them, giggling along with the two children as they stood unafraid of and unbiased against the massive Darkspear.

"Please excuse Bill," Becca apologized. Her words snapped Cecilia's attention back to one of her hosts and her old friend. "He's rather protective of us."

"Of you!" Vadia joked.

The druid raised a long eyebrow. "You sound like Aleanna, now."

Noticing Cecilia's curious look, Vadia took her by the arm and explained as they walked to her porch. "Becca here, Aleanna, Elenna and Benjari over there are all the Edunes. They were the pioneers here. William and his sister arrived later; they respect the traditionalism here and fulfill the quotas so we can avoid accepting more immigrants. Nothing against outlanders - we just like to follow the old ways here without drilling into the planet for wells or boring into the rock for materials."

"You and your fam are part of the community too, don't forget!" Becca scolded playfully as they all turned and sat on chairs on the covered porch of Vadia's modest, one story home.

"We've only been here a few years, though. Our house is still freshly grown," Vadia said with a sweeping hand motion to the old-school Kaldorei home with the single main room inside and the curving arches on the roof. Night elf life tended to be outside with neighbors in the grove; houses were primarily used for sleeping and storage, not for socializing.

"So how long have you and this William gentleman been together?" Cecilia asked sincerely. Vadia was already laughing as Becca looked flustered.

"What? You think we're…? I've never been with anybody, not since before the Sundering!"

"Seriously? You were born pre-Sundering and haven't been with anybody?" Cecilia asked incredulously. "You never had any suitors back in the olden days? No boyfriends post-Third War?"

"No, never!"

"Why not?" Cecilia asked.

"Becca is shy," Vadia chimed in, smiling.

"No, I'm focused and driven!" the druidess protested furiously, though with a slight flush to her cheeks.

"And William is shy too, which is why I always argue with Aleanna about the two of them. I think they'd make a good couple."

Becca grew even more flustered. "He's human, they don't live long!"

"I've got new for you, my dear sister," Cecilia said warmly but firmly. "I can tell that you're from the third generation, like myself; we already outlived the average lifespan of elves before immortality even began. Your time left on Azeroth may very well be as short of that as this Mr. Dunadaire that fawns over you so."

A mixture of dismay at the reminder of their mortality and legitimate childlike hope at the mention of William's affections swirled across Becca's expression. "Fawns? No, Bill is a noble knight if the Alliance, he came here to help defend the lifestyle of his faction's allies. Surely he wouldn't be coming here simply to meet women."

"Of course not Becca, he and his sister didn't know any of us when they came; they just accepted the post of functioning as 'cultural diversity' assignees at a small settlement in Ashenvale." Vadia clasped the druid's hand with her own, behaving as though she knew the woman as well as she did Cecilia. "But, come on, once he arrived here? He tries not to be smothering, but he hangs on every word you say when you're around him."

Ears darkening all the way to the tips, Becca stared into the grass as she seemed to consider it. "You really think that he likes me in that way?"

"It's obvious that he does, sister," Cecilia opined confidently. "What about you?"

Becca appeared to consider the question for a moment before answering with certainty in her voice. "Well, Bill is nice…and I like the way his pink skin turns red when he talks to me…I mean…I'm not used to discussing these topics," she stammered before turning to face the two others. "I don't know anything about these topics; I have no experience!"

"Well, look, Isurith just came to visit after a decade away from us, and with a whole new life like me," Vadia said to the confused druid. "Why don't we catch up on her story - you and the rest of your family need to get to know her better - and maybe we can help you figure out how to figure out your not-yet-existent love life."

"But I didn't ask for any help!"

"Do you even _know_ Vadia?" Cecilia laughed.

A measure of recalcitrance worked its way into Becca's voice. Despite the impropriety and the woman's advanced age, it ended up seeming cute rather than offensive. "You've been here five minutes!"

"But I've known her for a thousand years. I'm surprised that she hasn't started writing letters to him under your name yet."

"Hmm, that's a good idea," Vadia hummed.

Covering her face as if to hide, Beccana cringed as the two former shield sisters from Serenity behaved as if they'd never been apart. And as much as Cecilia had enjoyed seeing the mother-daughter duo at Serenity itself, her visit to Vadia was rapidly becoming the nostalgic return she'd been waiting for.

* * *

Khujand sat at the edge of the Edunes' herb garden, trying to test his knowledge of herbalism in a different locale than the Barrens. Sonja had done her best to teach him about identifying and caring for the various varieties - it didn't make sense for him to work as an alchemy trainer but know nothing of the ingredients - but visiting another geographic region was certainly a good mental exercise. It formed a good distraction as well; he was still perturbed by his wife's earlier comment in front of their hosts.

The moon had almost set by the time she ambled up behind him.

"Honey, there you are!" she beamed as she knelt down and draped herself over his back. "I've been looking all over for you, it was so much fun catching up with Vadia and getting to know this Edune family. Benjari was asking about you, they're really so accepting despite being traditional. I think William wanted to apologize for earlier as well."

Sucking it up, Khujand forced himself to sound cheery, not wanting to bring down his wife's mood on a trip which, even if not an epiphany, was still a significant return visit for her. By facing away from her, he was able to hide the look on his face and focus solely on masking his voice.

"Honestly dear, I was too enamored back here in their orchard," he lied, detesting the act despite feeling it necessary to preserve her happiness and his fragile psyche. "I guess I should forget about work when I'm on vacation, but that's not easy."

Unaware of the feelings swelling inside of him, Cecilia stood and tried to pull him to his feet. "Well, you missed much of the time here, but we can spend more time with them tomorrow after moonrise. We'll need to fly on to Astranaar after that and I'll have a lot to fill you in on along the way. For now, Vadia is letting us stay on her couch. I'll probably be up much of the day chatting with her but you should probably go to sleep."

Acquiescing readily, Khujand followed Cecilia's lead to Vadia's house, trying to cheer himself up by basking in the attention. This was a vacation, he told himself, and most people on Azeroth were too poor to ever afford any at all. He was traveling in night elf territory after having thought he would be denied entry, and he found he was enjoying the traditional culture more than his own due to a feeling of mild societal inferiority. Rubbing his tired eyes, he tried to relax - judging by Cecilia's reaction to Unelia's letter, she would likely need him to be her rock at the inevitable sister reunion tomorrow.


	25. Reunion

Cecilia chatted lightly with Vadia and Beccana as they watched the final preparations for the departure that evening. Benjari and Aleanna were assisting Khujand to properly secure the travel gear to the hippogriffs, though it was difficult when the two large creatures seemed sad to be leaving Elanna's tallstrider Goodie. The ride from Edune to Astranaar would require only half the amount of time that the ride from Raynewood to Edune had, and it would be back toward the east; the House of Edune was actually further west than Astanaar was, and the couple would end up backtracking. The extra night had been well worth it, however; Cecilia had spent so much time catching up with Vadia that they had spent much of the day awake chatting on the front porch. They eventually slept, but didn't wake up until it was nearly lunch time. Little Lamynia and Uryndil, not surprisingly for night elves raised in a small community free of conflict, roused Khujand from his slumber and dragged him outside to play, unafraid of the stranger given the relative safety of hamlet life. Though they weren't his progeny and he had recently been bereaved of his own biological children, the two bouncing toddlers awoke something within the gentle giant, and Cecilia couldn't but watch with a mushy smile as she woke up herself and looked out the window to see her husband crawling around the grass out front with the two children riding on his back as though he were a nightsabre.

Brunch had been similar to the food in Serenity; simple, unmixed fruit, vegetables and bread baked from ground acorns with tea leaves stuffed into hot water to drink. Literally the entire grove attended the meal - even the on-duty sentinel, even the three big birds; only the two ancients were absent, still motionless outside the gate. The first of the two sentinels at the grove who had accosted Khujand before - off duty that evening - behaved in a surprisingly friendly manner during the meal. Unsurprisingly, the traditional Kaldorei habit of sharing food to build trust broke through the remaining walls, and the couple felt even less racial tension there than they had at Raynewood Retreat. Not that Melyria and Shael'dryn had been inadequate hosts; there were just some things that couldn't be prevented in a military camp of that size. The House of Edune was small, quaint and very open due to the absence of gossip or enough people to even form cliques.

Despite being so far out of the way, Cecilia knew the trip had been worth it. Her list of pen pals increased which would be more time consuming, but at that point in her life there was little else that she'd prefer to consume her time with. The trip had been a relaxing break from Allison's grating voice; once they returned to Ratchet, Cecilia was seriously considering working as a warrior trainer for the Steanwheedle runners and shippers only and dropping her indoor office work entirely. She had spent too long of a time - so, so long - during the Vigil filling her life with nothing but duty to continue doing so, especially now that ninety-nine percent of her lifeapan had passed her by. Experiencing both sadness and fear at Celonia's situation and joy at Vadia's made her even more sure that, with whatever remaining time the Goddess would give her in this worldly life, all Cecilia really wanted to fill her time with was her husband, her international and multiracial circle of friends and doing things which she felt like doing rather than things which she had to do.

And kids. Though on that point, she tried to not think too much. It would come when it was time, she told herself as she watched Vadia's two bundles of energy bounce around.

"You must have your hands full with these ones," she murmured to her friend absentmindedly with a goofy grin.

Vadia sighed as she leaned forward on the railing of her porch and rested her back. "You have no idea. I mean that literally, you have no idea. We raised our kids communally back in the day. The Edunes are helpful but they're only four people - no offense, Becca."

"None taken. We try our best, but I know it's not the same - before we established this community, Aleanna, Elenna and I lived in a grove with even more people than Serenity. Raising children was so easy."

Sensing the same odd feeling within Vadia she had seen the other day, Cecilia rotated to face her as the three of them all relaxed after the hearty, all-natural meal. "Why doesn't your husband spend a few years at home while the kids are growing up? The Long Vigil is over; we have all these new races like your humans here to help us protect the planet."

When that same wistful look returned to Vadia's eyes, Cecilia understood the cause. "The Vigil has ended; the Dream will always continue," the lavender elf sighed. "The overwhelming majority of our men, nearly all of them, were druids for so long. That's our society's ideal man. Given the disparity in our numbers - I've heard ratios like three-to-two thrown around - those who are successful in their studies are considered 'a rare catch.' And I know that Nelecar loves us so much, I have no doubt about that. It's just…" Vadia stopped slouching, straightened up and stretched the muscles in her abdomen. "Everything outside the Dream is considered a distraction by the council they answer to. The druid council wants their members to raise families so somebody will continue their work now that we're mortal, yet they regard those same families as a distraction. So I find myself loving him, needing him here with me, but feeling selfish if I just request a bit of time."

"It's not selfish," Cecilia reassured her. "During those ten millennia of hell maybe it wouldn't have been possible, but things are different now. Their leadership will not change unless their membership changes. That means individuals like your husband, like Becca here, like Benjari over there all making it clear that while they have a duty toward nature, we are also freer than we were before, and all Kaldorei have the right to tend to normal social and family lives."

"I can't do that, I'd be asking him to willingly step away from advancement!" Vadia muttered, a helplessness she had hidden until now seeping through a closed wound.

"Then why did he get married?" Cecilia asked rhetorically. "Maybe he wants to settle down and have a personal life but feels shy on both parts - embarrassed from the judgment of his peers, and perhaps shy from a wife he assumes wants him to gain prestige through work and be a lame stereotype of ideal manliness. How many times have you asked him to come home?"

"What? Never! My husband is a member of the Druid of the Talon, he performs significant work in the Dream that affects the winds and climate here in our realm."

"So how can he know that he won't be considered a truant by his own wife?" Cecilia asked pointedly. "How do you know that he isn't feeling the longing and heartache as much as you are right now? How can you be sure of his reaction were you to write to his barrow den asking bluntly that he be woken up for a home visit?"

The lavender elf stared up at her freer, big-city friend with a downtrodden yet hopeful look in her eyes. Vadia was so much younger and had known the mind-numbing duty of their people for such less time. It hurt Cecilia's heart to see her friend feeling so lost at what was considered such a joyous event - child rearing - for all different subtypes of elves. The stress of parenthood was apparent, weighing down on the young (by night elf standards) woman's status as married yet living like a bachelorette.

"I guess…I guess there's no way for me to know," Vadia sighed again.

"Write to the barrow den; most of our settlements are well-served by postal roads now. I should know, I work for a parcel and shipping service!"

Eyes roving from her children and back to Cecilia again, Vadia's hope overrode her sadness, and then with surprise as Cecilia actually wrapped her arm around the shorter woman's shoulder affectionately.

"Alright…I guess it could be the best for all of us," Vadia said with more confidence. "I'll write to him once I can spend some time collecting my thoughts."

"It's the best for both of you, and your kids. I bet he'll fly back here before even taking the time to write back first and you'll just find him on the doorstep one day." Cecilia basked in the warmth she brought to her old friend momentarily before realizing her new friend had been left out of the conversation entirely. "Becca, you're awfully quiet. Are they pressuring you to drop everything and leave your family here for the Dream, too?"

She grinned and snorted in a childlike, almost immature manner upon finally being involved in the discussion. "No, they haven't, but I wouldn't expect them to," Becca said. "I only respecced as a druid after the Third War per those dumb old rules, so I'm still considered to be learning despite being older than most of my trainers. I get to stay here with my family undisturbed, which is how I'd prefer to live."

"Speaking of which, have you given those tips I told you any thought?" Cecilia asked with a suggestive raise of her eyebrow. Vadia turned to face the new druid as well which seemed to make the woman feel shy despite being as ancient as Cecilia.

"What tips?" she asked with a hand raised to her face as though to shield it from the porch lantern.

"You told us pretty bluntly last night that you think you fancy William as well," Vadia said while pulling Becca's hand back down. "He likes you, you like him, why not at least go for a walk with him sometimes?"

"But I don't know anything about that stuff!" Becca huffed.

"You never took your interactions with William seriously at all before. You were always the cool, collected one who wasn't the least bit awkward about it." Vadia almost appeared to be teasing her.

"Because I didn't really think he was sweet on me before, so I didn't have to think about it at all because I never thought about this stuff in my life!" Though she didn't seem as flustered as before, Becca was obviously apprehensive. "What if things don't work out?"

"An absolutely useless question," Cecilia said with a wave of her hand. "Look, I gave you some advice about how to express yourself to someone you like and who likes you back. If you don't want to pursue it and keep your interactions with him as they are now, then do that. If you want to tell him how you feel, tell him. But don't mope around with ambiguous questions about 'things' and 'working out,' whatever on Azeroth that means."

There was a lull in the discussion as Becca stared at the grass, the usually upbeat elf furrowing her brow in confusion. She didn't have much time to overthink and overanalyze her situation, however, as Elenna already looped around from the back of the house.

"There's William. He's going to the herb garden because I told him to," the archer said as she leaned up against the railing from the opposite side of the three others. "He's all alone because I tricked his sister into searching for my bow outside the village gates, but I didn't actually lose it."

"Elenna, that could be dangerous - what if she bumps into a wolf or something?" Vadia scolded more than asked.

"There, see? There's William now!" Elenna said as she pointed to the oblivious young man exiting the Kaldorei-style house he shared with his sister. Completely ignoring Vadia, she grabbed Becca by the arm. "If you're going to make a move, make it now!"

Numbed rather than nervous, Becca allowed herself to be dragged across the steps of the porch, looking unsure. "Oh…I don't know…what if we lose what we have now?" she asked.

"You don't have anything at all, sweetheart," Vadia joked. "You just give him orders when tending to the herb garden and he stands there too nervous to say a word to you."

Elenna continued dragging Becca away from the house, the druid too caught up in her own thoughts to resist. It was a humorous sight as Becca's feet occasionally caught in the grass, her body suddenly stiff as she appeared to fight to regain control of her senses. By the time they had reached William, the human had already heard them and turned around.

"Hey William, Becca wants to talk to you!" Elenna chortled as she pushed Becanna forward and closed the gap between the two. "I need to go find some herbs, see you later!" she said as she ran back to the house - the opposite direction of the herb garden.

The human was already blushing as he watched Elenna run back to the porch. Cecilia and Vadia sat on some chairs while they pretended to talk about something else, though their long ears allowed them to hear the entire conversation. Becca covered her mouth to cough unnaturally as she pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket, holding it out in front of her as she read. The two of them stood there, William rather awkwardly as he watched Becca read as though it were socially appropriate to make others wait while reading mysterious lists.

"Um…Becca? Do you need me to-"

"Wait."

"Oh…alright."

Elenna squatted down on the floor of the porch between Cecilia and Vadia as they watched the exchange, trying to hide herself and not laugh. Becca continued reading the notes she had written during the conversation with Cecilia about following one's heart the night before. The poor druid had been completely clueless about how to show affection or even quite understand her own feelings, and according to Vadia had legitimately been uninterested in William at first. As time spent together often does, their interactions - however brief - had caused her to warm up to the man and she had jotted down the pointers as though initiating such exchanges were a test to study for rather than the beauty of life.

When she had finished reading, she put the scrap back into her pocket and looked at William more intensely than was appropriate. Her hands simply fell to her sides and her posture was stiff, like someone who had absolutely no idea how to express themselves through body language. William's face had gone from slightly pink to as red as a bottle of orcish hot sauce.

"William," Becca stated flatly and without passion.

"Yes?"

Becca turned back to look at the porch with her entire upper body as if seeking approval. Her movements were way too obvious and Cecilia literally had to hold Elenna down to prevent her from saying something ridiculous. Becca turned back to William, her posture still stiff.

"Is that a pocket in your banana, or am I just glad to see you?"

Elenna clamped both hands over her mouth and even Vadia pursed her lips to hide her true reaction. Cecilia fought the urge to facepalm. "She's just warming up, give her a chance," she quietly chastised as Elenna continued to fidget.

Back at the exchange, the night elf was still stiff and the human was still like quivering jello.

"Um…we don't grow bananas here, Becca."

"Do you have eyes? Because I am lost in your map."

William blushed even more despite Becca screwing up the lines Cecilia had fed her last night. "Oh! Well, my eyes are fine but I don't think I have a…do you want me to ride to the next town over and buy you a map?" he stammered while visibly shaking with nervousness.

"No, I mean your lost is my map, and I can see your eyes!" Becca said in frustration that she couldn't remember the lines or what any of them meant.

"Is there something wrong with my eyes?" he asked in a worried tone.

"Yes; they aren't fixated on me," she answered even though his eyes had been fixated on her for the entire exchange. Unsure of what to do, William gave her a stare as inappropriately intense as hers, and Elenna actually ran into Vadia's house in order to laugh without being heard, no longer able to control it.

Her intention finally dawning on him, William's face softened as he gazed up at the woman half a foot taller than him who he had been fawning over for so long. "Becca, would you do me the honor of herbing picks with me?"

She stood by his side as they both stumbled toward the herb garden without paying attention to where they were walking. "There's no being I'd rather place in my now, Bill," she said with the utmost confidence right as she accidentally smacked her forehead into a low-hanging branch on the way there.

"Baaahahahahahahaa!" Elenna cackled as she literally rolled around on the floor of Vadia's house.

"I think they're cute together," Vadia chortled, though the laughter was apparent in her voice as well.

The three hadn't even noticed Aleanna, the hamlet's de-facto leader, as she approached them at the porch.

"Everything is ready for the two of you to take off, though we sincerely hope you'll stop by during your visit next year," she said.

Rising from her chair, Cecilia descended with Vadia and followed Aleanna over to the two hippogriffs. Khujand was busy chatting away with Benjari who, despite the combat experience against the Horde he had mentioned the other night, seemed to have no apprehension over speaking at such ease with the large Darkspear.

"We will be back, and we'll keep in touch as well," Cecilia said as they reached the front gate. "Vadia is sort of our connection to traditionalism here, so expect to receive letters once we get back to Ratchet."

All the elves of Edune minus Becanna congregated to bid the visitors to their happy though slightly lonely settlement farewell. Even the second of the two sentinels assigned to the hamlet - technically off-duty at the time - had asked to be roused from her slumber to see the couple off. The entire group made small talk as their visitors mounted up, holding on a bit longer to the only new faces they could be seeing for months. Hamlet life had a quaint beauty unavailable anywhere else, though with a total population of ten plus two sentinels who would be rotated out soon enough, their community was always trying to reach out to those willing to keep them company.

Just before they rode off, Cecilia turned back to Vadia.

"Write to him as soon as you can," she instructed her younger. "Life is too short with mortality. In fact, tell him exactly that; send one letter for the barrow den guards and another sealed letter telling them it's for his eyes only."

Smiling so wide that her teeth showed, Vadia had that hopeful look in her eyes again. "I hope it works. I love the kids, but they leave me so tired. It would be nice to actually have a married life with the person I married."

"Be positive; it will work out!" Cecilia shouted with a smirk to her husband just as they bounded off.

* * *

The lights of Astranaar could be seen from miles away. One of the most significant night elf towns after Darnassus - indeed, one of the only proper cities considering that most of their population still lived in villages, however culturally diluted they were - Astranaar wasn't hard to miss. The amount of air traffic increased during their approach, including that of uniformed members of the Alliance. That they resigned themselves to gawking rather than outright hostility was a good sign; though the influence Laughing Sisters hadn't reached the more remote and more isolated House of Edune, reaching Astranaar was a given. The opening over the paved moonstone road below became even wider until the entirety of its width and its traffic became visible from above, with wagons of supplies and the mounts of travelers providing an interesting change from the several hours of flying over the canopy.

Though the town's tallest buildings were also naturally grown trees, the fact that Astranaar was on an island in a lake meant that they stood out from the rest of the forest. There were more than there had been when Cecilia left a decade ago, all of them topped with the naturalistic balance-fueled lights that the priestesses blessed in order to mark their open, non-secluded settlements. It was an amazing and beautiful sight, though she hadn't been able to relax - not with what she knew would be coming.

Once they were about a mile from the town, they landed on the road below, scaring a carriage full of gnomish nobility and driven by a pair of night elf riders. The scene of two of her own people working a low-wage job in service to people from the Eastern Kingdoms hurt Cecilia's heart, and she led her hippogriff a bit closer to Khujand in order to immerse herself in their conversation and keep her mind off of what she viewed as the subjugation of the night elves by the Alliance due to Tyrande's amoral opportunism. It was a topic and a sentiment which Cecilia, as explained to Khujand, absolutely must not be mentioned in front of her sister, among a number of other topics. Speaking against the High Priestess might be accepted in hushed whispers among her fellow ancients in military tents, but would cause a scandal in a proper, more modern town.

Much of the ride there had been spent shouting across the wind explanations of her conservative, endlessly kind yet strict and religious sister's rules. They were hard to forget. In a grove of only twenty-five individuals, there was only room for one priestess of the moon and her two assistants. Regardless, Unelia was one of the oldest present - a number of the members were born during the generation of the Satyr War and the War of the Shifting Sands, meaning that some inhabitants of Serenity like Vadia were far, far younger and still had centuries left to live. Unelia's respected status as a member of the second generation of night elves meant that she was trained in the basics of balance magic by Priestess Lamynia; were their leader to die, one of her assistants would take over and in turn would need another assistant to fill in. Everybody had a role to fill in such a martial society and given their long lifespans, most of them had trained in several different roles should the need to shift labor arise. Unelia was a skilled mounted archer and cavalrywoman in addition to having been taught the basics of healing and invigorating her allies on the battlefield.

That training in healing was preceded by initiation into the Sisterhood of Elune, the leadership of the night elves' theocratic form of government; it functioned as the counterpart to the Sentinel Army, the military dictatorship backing the clergy-governors. While the sentinels could often by crass and boorish (by elven standards) like any other military regimen when off duty, the priestesses lived under much stricter regulations of their behavior in both public and private. While Unelia was not a priestess, she did traverse the same path. That she was literally the first night elf to marry outside the race in Ashenvale - indeed, she may very well have been the first night elf to marry a non-night elf anywhere, period - meant that Unelia was open-minded to an extent. There was a limit, however: her marriage to Johan was possible in part due to the fact that he had more or less 'converted' to the faith of Elune before they had even shown interest in each other. Though he had different genetics, Johan followed the same beliefs and customs, and while Unelia wasn't racist she did bear a measure of cultural supremacy and condescension, seeing non-Kaldorei as needing to be 'saved' by the children of the stars.

Ignoring the stares her husband received from other travelers on the main road to Astranaar, Cecilia reviewed with Khujand the laundry list of dos and don'ts in her sister's household. In addition to the customary bans on cursing, spitting, scratching oneself and leaving books on the floor, there were certain other things that were off limits as well. As a powerful Shadow Hunter, Khujand wouldn't be able to remove the aura of dark magic around him entirely, but he had to dig deep and suppress it as much as possible. If asked, he was to tell the truth about Loa (he didn't worship them) but the lie about voodoo (he lived and breathed it all day every day). Though he had never formally canceled his citizenship with the Horde, he was to skim by that detail and emphasize the fact that he had no more contacts with the nation, and any slouching or swag in his walk needed to be controlled at least around his sister-in-law and niece and nephew. She did not like loud noise, loud talking, too much laughter, sitting with the soles of one's feet facing toward the direction Teldrassil or Mount Hyjal, flashing the soles of one's feet at other people, opening one's mouth for reasons other than speaking, loose posture, excessive touching, men and women shaking hands with each other and sneezing loudly.

Oddly enough, as a traditional night elf Unelia had no problem with people not wearing shoes and men wearing nothing but a long loincloth as Khujand was. The contradiction was apparent to Cecilia now that she'd lived outside her homeland for so long but would be lost on those elves who had never left northern Kalimdor.

As they saw the checkpoint at the northwestern entrance of the town, Cecilia slowed down her speed greatly. It was only half a mile away, but she knew that she was already becoming tense and that Khujand would sense it. She felt him enclose her hand in his and she leaned in to him, noticing that her heart had been racing. Loads of memories, old feelings and things left unsaid rushed through her mind as their conversation trailed off, and she looked up at him to prompt him to say something, anything, to give her the opportunity to vent.

"Dya think she's gonna react coldly?" he asked.

"It's what I'm afraid of. She's going to be upset for sure."

"Ya only had each other for so long, Cici. Even if she resents ya for leavin', tha reality is that ya didn't have ta come back. She's smart, she's gonna realize that. Ya could've just stayed away and never contacted her again; ya chose ta come back now."

Shaking her head, Cecilia opened up about her misgivings, feeling a bit better when saying them out loud. "That's not how Unelia thinks. She takes me being there as a given, and I know her too well. She thinks Kaldorei families can never split up and so she can scold with impunity and I have to listen. She's kind but she's judgmental and eventually there will need to be some big 'talk' which equals her talking and me listening and staring at my feet."

"Look, I know she might be clingy and resentful, but ya didn't leave her alone entirely," Khujand reasoned as the checkpoint sentinels up the road began pointing at him and speaking in hushed tones. "She got married and had kids, and ya uncle was with her."

"It isn't the same, dear. Our uncle was in the Emerald Dream so we didn't see him until recently. Johan only came into her life ten years ago. For two thousand years, we lived together at Suramar, growing up in a decadent fantasy under Queen Azshara. For another nine-thousand, we lived in a small, hollowed out tree the size of that room we had at Raynewood with our mother and aunt; the same four people sharing two beds day in, day out for nine millennia, waking up next to each other, doing the same things. We occasionally left on rotation, but in the grand scheme of things, a few decades here and there were like nothing. Then mother passed away and it was the three of us. Then our aunt passed away and it was the two of us. I was the only one she had from Suramar who never left her, and then I did."

"But ya always tell me how tha past ten years after immortality are tha most significant of ya life, how they weigh more in ya mind than tha preceding ten thousand. Donshyu think she's tha same, so she also moved on and accepted tha new life she has?"

"No, no she isn't the same," Cecilia sighed wistfully. "None of us remember the Vigil well because time became distorted, but it isn't about only the time; it's about attachment for her. She never wandered, not like mom. I'm like mom, Unelia is Unelia."

She felt her husband looking down at her sympathetically as they reached the checkpoint. He had the tension of someone who wanted to say more but knew it wouldn't help, and she was always thankful for their mutual ability to read each other so well and know when to speak and when to stay silent. They approached the sentinels without a word. That is, until the hostility became apparent at the military checkpoint in front of the bridge across the most of Astranaar.

"Step away from the citizen and put your hands in the air, troll!" ordered a heavily armored sentinel in Common with her glaive at the ready.

Both hippogriffs bristled at the night elf guards in defense of a jungle troll, doing nothing but increasing the tension in the air. Knowing the drill with Kaldorei, Khujand put his hands in the air and stepped away from the riding mounts, doing his best to show no aggression but no fear, either. Cecilia stepped out front with the two letters from the Cenarion Circle and Earthen Ring in hand.

"My husband has been granted quarter by Keeper Ordanus of Raynewood Retreat, sisters," she said calmly while offering the two letters to the bright green-haired sentinel she recognized as Luara from years ago, though Luara didn't seem to recognize the woman once known as Isurith and now called Cecilia. "His neutrality and respect for the balance is attested to by two-"

"Stand down, citizen!" Luara ordered, eliciting an offended glare from Cecilia. "Do not interfere with security operations!"

Two perplexed looking sentinels that had been standing behind the spiked barricade moved forward to stand at Luara's sides. Although they didn't seem aggressive toward Khujand, they were honor-bound to support Luara, who bore the insignia of a commanding officer. Cecilia was older than all of them, however, and was undaunted even by the command from a uniformed sentinel.

"You don't appear to be listening to me," Cecilia explained in Darnassian as she moved in between Luara and Khujand. "This is not a member of an opposing faction. This is my husband. He's married to this citizen." Cecilia thumbed her own chest and pointed to her wedding armlet that matched Khujand's. "He has done nothing wrong and has the legal right to reside in night elf settlements."

Cecilia had never known Luara well, but was still shocked by her hostility and stubbornness as she ignored the entire exchange.

"Last warning," Luara growled at Khujand in Common as though Cecilia weren't even there. "Surrender or face the consequences."

"I already surrener-"

"No, he _hasn't_ surrendered, and he won't," Cecilia growled right back at Luara as she interrupted her own husband. "And if you so much as touch him I'm going to make you wish your own commanding officer had shown up to punish you first!"

The two night elves stared each other down for a pregnant moment, Luara not recognizing Cecilia and surely noticing her lack of uniform or decoration, but hanging back warily as well. The two sentinels to her sides continued to look lost, and seemed to be from the younger generations given their lack of commitment to the staredown. Cecilia had been so tense that she didn't even notice the four Astranaar sentinels shadowmelded behind her.

:: _SCHLUMP_ ::

"Screeeeeeeeech!"

The nets had been thrown over the two hippogriffs so quickly that they didn't even have time to react before being dragged across the ground. The third net was launched at Khujand from the branch of a tree above, but his voodoo must have informed him of the presence and he caught the net around one arm, working to keep both hands up in a submissive posture.

"Hey! Stop!" Cecilia shouted, her anger and protective instinct clouding her judgment as she turned and gave her side to Luara.

Seizing the opportunity, Luara leapt forward and grabbed Cecilia by the hair, holding her glaive to the retired sentinel's neck. Angrily refusing to raise her hands up, Cecila leaned her weight forward and forced Luara to struggle behind her as she watched two sentinels and a local druid try to tackle Khujand, who simply crouched and sank his weight down, standing passively but refusing to budge as the three elves held on to his waist and his free arm. One of the sentinels even tried digging her elbow into Khujand's ribs despite disapproval even from the druid holding on to his arm, to no effect.

"Get the fuck off of him!" Cecilia yelled as she spun in a circle, taking care not to actually grab ahold of Luara but working to put the officer off balance and disorient her.

"I'm warning you, I'll have you arrested for aiding and abetting an enemy soldier!" Luara hissed.

"He's not a soldi - don't touch him!"

Another sentinel pulled a military inspector's baton from her belt and looped it around Khujand's neck from behind, putting him into a chokehold. Cecilia knew that he had a decent lung capacity but nobody could resist being strangled for too long. Months ago when they first discussed the possibility of an Ashenvale visit, Cecilia and Irien had prepped him on worst case scenarios and how to behave around her people. Night elves were vicious when it came to defending their territory but also sticklers for rules, and unlike humans would not kill a target that was behaving passively, even a potentially dangerous one. Doing as she had told him, Khujand continued standing with his hands up even as his oxygen supply was cut off, the druid twisted his free arm into a hold and the two sentinels pulled him down to one knee, refusing to fight back though also refusing to lay prone like a criminal.

"He's not even resisting, _let GO_!" Her voice more hoarse and angry now, Cecilia began to feel a bit of a berserker rage of her own as she saw Khujand's face go from azure to purple.

Several travelers had gathered on both sides of the barricade, most of them afraid of the sight though a few began jeering at the sentinels - a huge, major offense that could have resulted in them being court martialed in community that essentially always lived under martial law. The hippogriffs had been tranquilized and one of the sentinels even shot Khujand in the thigh with an arrow of the stuff, though after the skirmish in Durotar, Cecilia knew that would have little to no effect on him.

A minor crowd of onlookers began to form. "Hey, I don't think that guy can breathe," commented a well-dressed Gilnean noblewoman in worgen form, not quite sympathetic toward the obstinate troll though her face displayed her moral disapproval.

"The Darkspear did appear to speak our language before reaching the checkpoint," suggested a night elf female in civilian garb. "Perhaps he is one of those non-Horde trolls from Moonglade."

"I don't think he has any weapons," observed another civilian night elf as she tried to get the attention of the multiple armed guards trying to restrain Khujand despite him not actually doing anything that required his being restrained.

A gnome with some sort of mechanical recording device began narrating the scene out loud as his human companion began taking flash photos with her advanced dwarf-engineered camera. "We're here at Astranaar on a Tuesday night. Just outside of the gate, the local authorities appear to be unlawfully arresting a non-combatant jungle troll without probable cause. Their restraint techniques do not match those officially sanctioned by Alliance law enforcement regulations and there is reason to believe that we have a verifiable case of police brutali-"

"Get these rubberneckers out of here!" Luara barked at the sole sentinel still standing stupefied.

"Let! Him! GO!"

Spinning around, Cecilia absorbed the blade of Luara's glaive on the outside of her forearm, allowing a long and thin but deep cut to be opened as she hooked Luara's free arm with her own uninjured arm and hip-tossed the officer to the side. Thinking it only a minor setback, the armed officer spun around to face her civilian assailant, of ending her mouth to shout what likely would have been an order for Cecilia's arrest as well. Before Luara could even raise her glaive to strike, however, a mauve-colored fist was already flying toward her unarmored face.

:: _WHACK_ ::

The half dozen onlookers gasped and even the four on-duty personnel restraining Khujand turned to look as blood splattered through the air and stained the grass. Luara dropped her weapon and even lost the loosely-secured bracer it was attached to and stumbled backward, the grotesque angle at which her broken nose was bent visible to all. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head just as she collapsed on the side of the road and landed on her butt in a seated position, not quite unconscious but no longer capable of giving orders.

In a flash, Cecilia had already kicked Luara over into the grass and snatched the officer's moon glaive, attaching the bracer to her own arm and spinning the blade threateningly.

"Whoa! Wait!" shouted one of the sentinels with her hands held out as she released her grip on Khujand's waist. "Calm down, citizen!"

" **Back the fuck off noooow**!" Cecilia screamed as she swung at the air in front of her fellow Kaldorei.

The others readily moved back toward the barricade, helping Luara to her feet and handing her a rag. They all jumped at the crackle of life magic with a deathly aura as the suddenly breathing and gasping troll stirred.

"Hey, tell him to stop!" the druid ordered as he jumped over a sedated hippogriff to avoid the red burst of energy.

Cecilia turned and saw that Khujand had summoned his chain healing spell. The red trail of light ran from the palms of his hands to the cut on her arm and then bounced to Luara's nose and finally back to his own throat. One of the sentinels got the hint and used both of her thumbs reset the officer's broken cartilage without asking permission, and the chain heal did the rest of the work. Entirely spent, the red glow faded from the Shadow Hunter's eyes, though that did little to assuage the concerns of the sentinels.

"Did he just use _voodoo_ within the vicinity of a populated area?" Luara asked ungratefully through the handkerchief she held over her nose.

Refusing to even answer, Cecilia placed herself in front of her husband again, baring her fangs as the rattled sentinels under Luara's command sought a solution amongst themselves.

"Maybe we should inspect those two letters the citizen was talking about?" the sentinel who was basically propping up all of Luara's bodyweight asked sheepishly.

"You just assaulted an officer of the Sentinel Army!" the recalcitrant Luara groaned at Cecilia as she wiped away the rest of the blood from her upper lip. She ignored the suggestion from her second in command entirely, not even seeming to notice that she couldn't stand without the woman's help. "I can have you arrested on the spot!"

"Do I understand this to be a threat against my kin, officer?"

Although a few of the onlookers whispered among themselves about the state of law enforcement these days, the natives all fell silent at the sound of an eerily calm voice. As if the light of the moon was shining on their spot, all save Luara loosened up and searched for the familiar voice, leaving Cecilia to suddenly feel like the glaive she'd appropriated weighed a ton.

The whole group turned to the speaker as she made her way through the barricade. Rather short for a night elf, the woman leaned heavily in a staff and walked with a slight limp as though she had survived an accident but mostly healed up. Her face was mostly concealed by the hood of the cape and cowl she wore, a garment often used by the archers of their people when concealing themselves during hunts. Her ears poked out through two little holes on the sides of the hood, revealing mauve skin; the hand with which she held the intricately carved wooden staff was gloved, and she looked as though she had just arrived from a foray out into the woods. Brushing right past Luara, the woman stopped in front of a trembling Cecilia, the healthy glow from two burning silver eyes illuminating long locks of a dark indigo color.

:: _CLACK_ ::

Everyone jumped as Luara's glaive and bracer hit the ground and clattered on the moonstone road. Finally stepping away from her husband, Cecilia stood wide-eyed as a storm of emotion welled up inside of her. Though the elves looked away out of respect for what was obviously a personal moment - even Luara - the handful of non-elven onlookers lingered beyond the checkpoint for a moment, only to be conscientiously shooed away by one of the sentinels.

Her hands trembling from the rapid jump in her heart rate and the pain of separation for a decade that pressed upon her with equal weight to an eon, Cecilia lurched forward like an uncoordinated ghoul and reached for the hood. The much shorter woman only leaned forward, allowing the cowl to be pulled back from her head by the quaking dark azure-haired visitor. Testifying to the lack of genetic diversity of their people, a near carbon copy of Cecilia looked back at her. The same high cheekbones, the same small chin, the same skin complexion and silver in the roots of her hair mirroring Cecilia's grey - it was all her. The woman's face betrayed no emotion as Cecilia could feel herself nearly breaking down, every muscle in her face straining as she fought to both pour her heart out and contain her half of the pain at the same time.

She felt her knees become week and fell to one, the warmth of the woman's gaze making her feel unworthy. Cecilia buried her face in the woman's waist, clutching the sides of her cloak as her entire body trembled silently. After hesitating for a moment, the woman remained standing but reached down with her hands, holding Cecilia close as she ran her fingers through the much taller woman's hair.

"I'm sorry," Cecilia choked out, the sense of déjà vu overwhelming her along with the guilt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

She began to feel dizzy as the burden of keeping her composure caused her to feel lightheaded, and everything other than thoughts of family drained from her head. The same scent of myrrh filled her nostrils, contrasting with her own sandalwood as she clung to that cloak for dear life.

After seconds that felt like an eternity, Unelia knelt down as well, pulling her sister into a full embrace. It was the same embrace Cecilia had felt when they hid inside their basement in Suramar from the rampaging demons of the Burning Legion outside. The same embrace she had felt when the earthquake preceding the Sundering drowned out every other sound. The same embrace she had felt when waiting for Tyrande to announce the decision on their broken people's future at the base of a strange mountain called Hyjal. The same embrace she had felt upon the deaths of so many family members and friends throughout the Vigil. The same embrace she had felt all her life whenever there was a crisis, the one person that would never leave her now accepting her back even after she left in the day without saying goodbye a decade ago.

Twelve thousand years of blood sisterhood and companionship crushed her to the point where only Unelia's had holding her chin could raise her head up. Two faded eyes with crystal blue irises met two burning silvers as a reunion as painful as it was joyous played itself out silently.

"Welcome home."


	26. Don't Make a Scene

His throat sore from the chokehold, Khujand focused on swallowing carefully as he gulped in air. The sentinel that had latched on to his back had been unnecessarily rough if simply restraining him had been the goal, and the way she and her comrades kept glancing at him from the corners of their eyes bothered him. Raynewood Retreat had been a military camp and he received a warmer welcome there; what's this officer's problem?

He didn't have much time to ruminate, as the shorter carbon copy of his wife with purple hair was helping Cecilia to her feet. It hadn't been difficult to figure out that she was Unelia, the older sister and head of the family whose reaction Cecilia had feared so much. Though he had never met her before, Khujand could immediately tell that much of his wife's fear was unfounded. Unelia was stiff and hesitant for only a few seconds before hugging her quaking sister back, and even her movements and body language radiated a sort of warm calm that made Cecilia's descriptions of her supposed resentment hard to believe.

Likely out of respect for family tradition, the druid who'd tried to help arrest Khujand began to usher away the small crowd that had gathered to gawk at the scene. The onlookers had been sent back on their business by the time the two sisters were standing far enough apart for their conversation to be heard.

"You're here; that's all that matters," Unelia whispered to Cecilia softly.

"No, it's more than that," Cecilia answered back, only for Unelia to literally clamp her hand over the younger but taller sister's mouth.

The image two of them finally reuniting was almost surreal. Aside from the fact that he was hearing half of a conversation for which he had no context, Khujand was stunned by the resemblance. He had already noticed it between Celonia and Velonia and he knew of Johan's theory of low genetic diversity among Kaldorei, but seeing such a similarity with his wife and sister-in-law was a minor shock.

"Just forget it all for now; you're here. You came back. Everything else can wait," Unelia said with a normal speaking voice. Turning her attention to the heavily breathing jungle troll, her gaze continued to radiate a sincere warmth he already found touching without having met her before. "This is my brother-in-law, I take it?"

Once Cecilia seemed to have calmed down, Khujand tried to step forward only for the reeling officer to jump in again, her haughty pride wounded.

"Stand back, Sister Swiftfoot! That traitor is guilty of aiding and abetting an enemy soldier and assaulting an officer of the _law_!" Luara barked, which seemed to be her normal mode of speaking.

With a non-sarcastic smile, Unelia held Cecilia's trembling hand tight and turned to face Luara. "If you cannot provide verifiable evidence of this man's status as an enemy, you've committed slander in front of multiple witnesses, Luara," she stated calmly. "And if this man isn't an enemy, then you also assaulted my sister who was trying to protect her spouse. Shall we bring this before Sentinel Thenysil?"

Khujand didn't know who any of these people were, but it wasn't difficult to guess that Thenysil was likely some sort of commander above the commander in front of him. For most uniformed officers of Azeroth regardless of race or faction, the threat of being reported to a superior was enough to give them pause. Not in this case, however.

"No, we're taking this before Sentinel Thenysil!" Luara replied in the negative as though she wasn't even listening.

"That's what my sister just said," Cecilia shot back at her, more coherent after the initial shock of seeing her sister again and just as irritable and righteous as ever.

Huddling close to the two sisters that would look like twins were it not for the more than a foot of height difference, Khujand held his arm out for Cecilia to take, eliciting a disgusted facial expression from Luara.

"And he can't enter city limits unless he is properly restrained!" Luara shouted. Even a few of her sentinels balked at her comment, with one of them distinctly avoiding Khujand's gaze with a guilty look on her face.

"Keeper Ordanus has already contacted the registration office through the Laughing Sisters," Unelia explained a little more firmly. "My brother-in-law has the blessing of two recognized neutral organizations. You have no jurisdiction to restrain him as a lawful visitor."

"That beast is a dangerous-"

"Troll?!" Cecilia bellowed right back, causing everyone other than her sister to jump. "Is that what you meant to say, Luara? Because of his race, you have the right to assault my husband, put him in an unsanctioned chokehold and sedate our mounts?"

As if to punctuate the point, one of the drugged hippogriffs screeched pathetically from its net, eliciting even more sympathetic coos from the few more onlookers that had gathered anew than Khujand had when he'd been restrained.

"I told you to get the civilians out of here!" Luara yelled at the sheepish sentinel that hadn't been involved in the mess of a melee earlier.

While the obviously young private ushered the new batch of onlookers away, Khujand and Unelia set the hippogriffs loose, gently leading the two mounts through the wartime barricade left over from the height of Alliance-Horde wars during the late Garrosh Hellscream's reign. Suddenly noticing her charges walking away, Luara tried to shove past her sentinels, nearly falling over in the process due to residual dizziness from Cecilia's superwoman punch.

"Hey, I did not yet give consent for him to enter!" the still reeling officer stammered as two of her sentinels practically dragged her after the group by the arms.

"I'm sorry this had ta be tha way we meet," Khujand apologized to Unelia, concerned that his presence may jeopardize her standing in the town.

"You have done nothing wrong, my brother," she answered, eliciting a bashful look from the flattered troll. "Your Darnassian is remarkable, by the way. I am pleased to see that my sister has also dedicated herself to spreading the good word."

Cecilia flashed Khujand the eyebrow signal they'd developed for when one of them needed the other to remain silent, and he discerned that 'the good word' was likely a euphemism for proselytization. Nodding without speaking, he hung closer to Cecilia as they entered Astranaar proper, and was taken aback by the beauty of the first true town he'd seen in elven style.

Raynewood was a military camp; the House of Edune was a hamlet; Serenity was spoiled and dilapidated. Astranaar, however, was a true city. Perhaps even larger than Ratchet, every inch of the island was built up - contrary to the elven love of open space Cecilia had described to him, but the incredible architecture made up for that. His sense of cultural inferiority crept back in as he admired the curved rooftops rising into the sky along with the numerous hollowed-out trees used as buildings. Exquisite (he was quite enjoying that word) archways stood over entrances to different sections of the city, and unlike both cities of the Alliance and the Horde, there was neither garbage nor stray supplies lying around. Everything was neat and organized despite the sign out front stating the population as eight thousand and someodd people, and the environment was surprisingly quiet and peaceful for such a large settlement.

Cecilia, for her part, seemed just as in awe of her surroundings as Khujand despite having lived here before. He didn't know if it was due to changes in the city, changes in her since leaving or both, and he left her to bask in her return. As if understanding their need to take in their surroundings, Unelia remained silent as she led them presumably to the registration office. As the trio approached a rather large tree dwelling with three floors like the ones at Raynewood and Serenity, Cecilia gasped, and Khujand noticed a gaggle of about a dozen children running alongside them, their glowing eyes illuminating joyous, excited faces.

Noticing the taller sister's reaction, Unelia finally spoke.

"Our people have not wasted time renewing the population since the end of immortality," she explained happily. "These are the children of Astranaar, the beginning of the post-Nordrassil generation and the future of our people." She waved to the most mature of the children, one looking to be about a decade old - meaning she would have been born almost immediately after the Third War. "Relaara, come say hello to my sister and her husband!"

The leader of the children stepped forward first, bowing deferentially to Cecilia and nodding to Khujand. "Ishnu alah, auntie!" Relaara beamed, using the common version of informal greeting for elders.

The rest of the children swarmed the couple, showing no fear even from Khujand as they felt the texture of his leathery hide.

"Your husband is really big!" blurted out one of the children, much to the amusement of several adults walking by.

"Well, thanks," Cecilia chortled as she ruffled the girl's hair. "It's been so long since I've seen so many Kaldorei children in one place. In fact, the last time was at Suramar - do you remember-"

"Hold it right there!" commanded a grating voice from behind the whole group.

Increasingly reluctant underlings in tow, Luara lurched after the trio, ushering the children away with a dismissive wave of her hand. Most of them scampered off willingly and the adults in the area wandered away at the sight of a battered officer accosting a group with an intimidating outlander. Unelia waited politely for Luara to catch up, but Khujand could sense his sister-in-law's displeasure.

"That man is a danger to the other civilians in the area!" she hissed with a finger pointed at Khujand rudely. "And that woman is wanted for assaulting an officer of the _law_!" Luara moved to point at Cecilia as well, but shrank back at the last moment, eyeing the defiant retired sentinel warily.

"Nice to hear you referring to my husband as a man instead of a beast," Cecilia sniped, pulling both Khujand and Unelia closer to her. "And do you have a written warrant proving I'm a wanted woman, or are you making a false claim in front of witnesses?"

Unelia whispered something in Cecilia's ear Khujand couldn't hear, and Luara seethed in even more anger at the perceived disrespect.

"Sister Swiftfoot, you have an obligation to submit your associates-"

"My family," Unelia corrected politely.

Gritting her teeth, Luara continued, seemingly wary of some sort of influence Unelia must wield. "You must submit them for processing and judgment at the registration office! Sentinel Thenysil must be informed of what has transpired!"

"We were already going to the registration office, Sentinel Luara." Unelia flipped on the flat, monotone sentinel voice; it was sincere but also a refusal to give Luara a reaction, which only seemed to infuriate the woman even more.

"I'm the one giving the orders, and I'm leading the way!" Luara barked.

"Point the way," Unelia said congenially.

"I will!"

Everyone other than the odd trio and security officers had cleared out of the immediate area. Khujand watched as Luara finally tried a staring contest with Unelia, who stared back though without malice. Cecilia had turned the burn in her eyes on the sentinels and druid who had tried to arrest Khujand earlier, all of them avoiding her gaze as if they knew they had crossed some sort of line.

"Well?" Unelia asked after some time.

"What? Yes! We're going now!" Luara huffed, only stumbling one more time before she stepped out in front and led them all to the enormous, hollow tree-turned-headquarters in the center of town.

Passing by a few more locals - which included a low but visible percentage of draenei, humans and worgen - the group arrived at the tree tower, pushing through various bystanders, loitering sentinels and various persons waiting in line with official forms in hand. Bureaucracy was one of the new phenomena brought by her people's membership in the Alliance that irritated Cecilia the most, and Khujand could feel her arm tense as it stayed interlocked with his.

Breaking away from Sentinel Luara without warning, Unelia spotted two bored looking night elf women leaning against a naturally grown fencepost lining the main road and waved them over. Reaching them in a few strides, they took the reins of the hippogriffs without needing instructions and accepted more silver from Unelia than was typical for fees demanded by runners. Giving some brief instructions about returning change from the flight mistress to her home, she thanked them before seeing them off and turning back to a frowning Cecilia and perplexed Khujand.

"The employment office should be able to find something for them to do," Cecilia muttered, only confusing Khujand even more.

Seeming to take notice, Unelia addressed her troll brother-in-law more than her elven sister. "Unemployment and urban crowding are two more vices the brave new world has brought to our people," she said with a light hint of sorrow in her voice. She seemed much more ready to express emotion than other elves her age, similar to Cecilia. "Many drifted here from communities like Serenity or after the Cataclysm; we don't have the poverty-related crime of human cities, but the poverty itself has entered."

Cecilia looked down in disappointment, shaking her head. "Goddess light our paths." She spoke so comfortably now, it was as though all the grief she had shown Khujand over the possible negative reaction from her sister had been washed away by the brief reunion outside the northwestern barricade.

Remembering that both he and his wife were technically under threat from someone who appeared to wield a measure of influence herself, Khujand straightened his back and scanned over the heads of the night elves loitering in the lobby of the command tower tree, earning himself a few wary stares from those nearby. Across the group, he could see Luara ranting and raving to another sentinel wearing heavy armor and even more decorated with officer's insignias whom he assumed to be Thenysil. Standing in front of him but too close for him to see over his high vantage point when not slouching, the druid and the baton-wielding sentinel who had been particularly rough with him earlier approached, causing Cecilia to bristle.

"We come in peace, sister," said the sentinel with her palms open and baton attached to her belt. "Our intention is to make amends."

"You're damn right you need to make amends!" Cecilia hissed, placing herself in front of Khujand again.

Unelia stood close to the couple as well, patting Cecilia on the arm to calm her down.

"We followed the orders we were given, and thought we were protecting our charges from a potentially dangerous individual," the druid said with his eyes downcast, standing further away from the sisters than his female companion per social mores Cecilia had once explained to Khujand regarding interaction with older elves. "But it seems that we may have…overreacted."

Cecilia opened her mouth to shoot another barb, but stopped when Unelia turned to face her; it was the first time Khujand had ever seen someone able to silence Cecilia when her irritability had been stoked.

"My sister and her husband just returned from the House of Edune, Faldreas," Unelia said to the druid. "One of the residents there grew up with us at Serenity."

The man's eyes lit up. "Oh…I'm terribly sorry!" he addressed to Khujand. "Even with orders, I would not have engaged in the same manner had I known!"

"It's over, man, don't even worry about it," the jungle troll answered in fluent but accented Darnassian that shocked both of the apologetic officers.

"Look…maybe we aren't supposed to say this, but we can testify for you and your husband if need be," the sentinel added. "He didn't resist arrest, and before he healed you, you did have a verifiable wound from Luara's attempt at restraining you."

Without skipping a beat, Cecilia gladly accepted. "Normally I'd feel like I were imposing, but this is our first vacation here, and it wasn't easy getting my husband permission to enter our cities."

"My brother-in-law is a trusted ally and friend," Unelia stated with a firmness that Khujand found flattering. "I will not allow anybody to jeopardize our family visits."

"Isurith!" exclaimed out a voice from down the road.

Turning to look, the group was faced with another odd pair. Another uniformed sentinel, this one carrying a pair of tonfa characteristic of a heavier form of urban security officer, was hurrying over to them. Trailing behind her was a rather odd man. He wore the fur robes of the Kaldorei and had the long hair and rather long beard to look the part, but was clearly a blonde-haired, blue-eyed human about a head shorter than the sentinel. Greeting Unelia with a demure smile and squeeze to the hand, the man who was probably Johan spoke to her quietly as the sentinel clasped both of Cecilia's hands with hers.

"Niorith! By the Goddess, you haven't changed a bit!" Cecilia exclaimed, causing the woman to blush.

"You've changed considerably!" Niorith replied, motioning to Cecilia's dark azure hair with a head nod. "Johan went to find me once Unelia saw you at the gates, what happened?"

"Nothing much. The officer guarding the gate slashed me with her glaive, sedated our hippogriffs and ordered my husband's arrest without probable cause," Cecilia said casually to a very shocked Niorith. "Pretty much a regular evening I guess, how have you been?" They both shared a laugh at the comment, Niorith's a bit confused and awkward.

Unelia led her human forward, the man being the second of his kind to ever look at Khujand as anything other than a monster. "Khujand, this is Johan, the other outlander who snatched up one of the Swiftfoot sisters."

Extending his hand to shake at first, Khujand corrected himself and bowed in response to the human using the traditional Kaldorei greeting instead. "I am honored," the human said. Like Khujand, Johan spoke fluent Darnassian, but with an accent almost like that of a native speaker from Nightsong Woods. "Ishnu alah-"

"This is her!" Luara shouted as she accosted the group, finally mustering the courage to point rudely at Cecilia.

Trailed by two of her underlings and the more decorated sentinel from inside, Luara's rage hadn't subsided one bit as its main focus switched from the troll to her fellow elf. She literally shoved her way through the various clerks and locals waiting in line in the open-air lobby of the command center, walking rapidly with all the haughtiness associated with the worst stereotypes of her people. As if to punctuate her status as a characiture of a self-righteous sentinel, she actually put her hands on her hips and stared right at Cecilia as she waited for Thenysil to catch up.

Before Cecilia could verbally rip into the zealous officer, Unelia stepped forward to Thenysil like an ambassador for the group.

"Greetings, commander," Unelia said politely with a bow. "I trust Sentinel Luara has expressed her feelings to you in full?"

Thenysil stood at ease, looking over the dried blood on Cecilia's forearm and then the skulking troll behind her. "That she has," the commander of the commander replied, seeming to take the situation in. "Is it true that an altercation occurred?"

"It is true, Commander," Unelia replied honestly.

"And am I to understand that the guest of the Laughing Sisters we were informed of healed the wounds of all those involved?" Thenysil asked.

"What? Laughing Sisters?" Luara asked with the anger in her voice unmasked. "I wasn't informed of anything of the sort!"

"The news was posted on the bulletin board upstairs almost twelve hours ago," the sentinel that had choked Khujand said meekly, her ears drooping in reaction to Luara's glare.

"Yes, Commander. My brother-in-law healed both the deep cut I witnessed Luara inflict on my sister's forearm as well as the nosebleed Luara incurred when threatening her."

"That's not how it happened!" Luara said through gritted teeth, though she at least appeared to be trying to restrain herself.

"Am I to understand that my honesty is being disputed?" Unelia asked blankly, though the sharp point in her words did not go unnoticed.

"Is that not how it happened?" Cecilia asked Luara in a controlled tone, though her sneer couldn't be hidden.

"Wha…you! You, assaulted! You betrayed the _law_!" Luara sputtered, unable to punctuate her sentences properly when working so hard to control her temper. Her underlings began to back away, embarrassed by their superior's display.

"Luara, did you order this man's arrest?" Thenysil demanded bluntly, though not rudely.

"Man? Yes, I ordered its arrest!" Her clenched fists actually began shaking as she looked at her own superior as though the woman had just struck her.

"And did you cut this citizen in the process of restraining her?" The head commander of the local sentinels was facing Luara entirely, not granting her the chance to change the subject or escape the conversation.

Though nobody was observing the conversation - one of the best qualities of elves was that they understood the concept of minding one's own business - those waiting in line to get various documents stamped or submit applications for bureaucratic purposes made a noticeable effort to stand away from the motley crew of sentinels, visitors and two outlanders. One of the two sentinels that had previously stood by Luara had actually shadowmelded and snuck away, and the druid Faldreas had found an unbelievably interesting stack of pebbles on the ground to stare at.

Luara arched her brows angrily and tilted her head down, evoking defeat with her demeanor. "That thing-"

"My man?" Cecilia asked snidely, eschewing her usual maturity and yanking Khujand over to her as she leaned her head on his shoulder in a display that even caused Unelia to smile uncomfortably.

Luara clearly wanted to retort, but hissed through her nose as she bit her tongue before finishing. "He healed us with voodoo! That's dangerous!"

"Healing is dangerous?" Cecilia asked again, finally pursing her lips when Unelia patted her on the arm again but turning her chin up triumphantly.

Thenysil stepped back and stood to face the entire group. "I think I've heard enough. This man is a guest of the Laughing Sisters and his neutrality has been attested to and accepted by the registration office of the Sentinel Army branch here as of now. A misunderstanding occurred in which boundaries were transgressed on both sides. We've all come to an understanding and all those injured have been healed. Whatever occurred previously is now over. Agreed?"

"Readily!" Cecilia chirped

All eyes shifted to Luara, who was looking less like a commanding officer and more like a scolded child.

"Sentinel?" Thenysil asked with a reassuring hand on Luara's shoulder.

The scorned officer stood at attention, the wounded pride apparent on her face as she fought to contain herself. Despite her having ordered his unlawful arrest and hurting his wife, Khujand actually felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman, wishing for a painless means of escape from the awkward situation.

"Agreed."

Without hesitation, Khujand nudged Cecilia toward Luara, bending down to whisper in her ear at the last minute. "Elune loves tha magnanimous," he reminded his wife, actually taking the role as the mature advisor in the relationship for once.

The remaining sentinels actually tensed up at the sight of their officer and the visitor standing toe to toe, having seen them in a brawl earlier. Luara had gone from angry to crestfallen, burning with righteous fury denied as she refused to meet Cecilia's eyes. Flashing Khujand a knowing look over her shoulder, Cecilia held her arms out in front of Luara, startling the woman whose nose she had broken.

"I am regretful for the way our introduction occurred," Cecilia said contritely, "and I sincerely hope that our future brings us better interactions." Though the sense of triumph was still there, the previous snarkiness was not, the former sentinel's point having already been made.

Luara finally made eye contact, her hurt pride breaking through as the tips of her ears darkened. Cecilia smiled sincerely and nodded as though she felt a bit sympathetic as well even though Luara had attacked her, likely making Luara feel even worse.

"I am honored," the officer mumbled as Thenysil led both of them back to the others.

"Let's not speak of this again," the head commander addressed to the entire group. "We have a returning sister and a new friend with us here today. I hope that your visit is wonderful for both your family and the community at large, Sister Swiftfoot."

"We are all honored, Commander," Unelia addressed to Thenysil before turning to the sulking officer. "And we would be especially honored if you would join us all for a meal once you're off duty, Sentinel Luara."

Luara only looked up at nodded, and it almost seemed like she was about to shadowmeld right there before her own superior intervened.

"Take the rest of the night off, officer," Thenysil said as she pulled Luara toward the rest of the group. "This has been a long night for all of you. Perhaps you can help your new guests settle in."

"That's a great idea," Cecilia said with a grin that Khujand couldn't quite read. "My uncle, niece and nephew are here; the group is so big that we might need to eat at a restaurant instead of at home. I'll pay for your meal."

"What?" Luara exclaimed in legitimate dismay. "No, you can't!"

"I can, and I will."

"Actually, uncle Elindir took the kids on a group camping trip; we didn't know you'd be here so soon given your detour to the House of Edune which Khujand wrote to us about," Unelia explained as she waved for the entire group to follow her and Johan. "They'll be back tomorrow, which will give you and your husband the chance to rest up before the little ones wear you out."

Looking somewhat disappointed, Cecilia acquiesced, leading Niorith, Faldreas and the nameless sentinel and practically dragging Luara along with them. "I suppose it's for the best; Khujand and I have done a lot of flying lately, haven't we?"

Taking a moment to realize that eyes were now on him - he'd gotten used to observing more than speaking during this leg of their vacation - Khujand snapped back into the moment.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, we're gonna need a good few nights' rests before we back ta normal," he chuckled, the rumble in his lungs making Luara visibly uneasy.

The group of nine - three sentinels, one officer, one retired sentinel, one member of the Sisterhood of Elune, a druid, a night elf born in a human's body and a socially inept jungle troll - all ambled down the road, taking up most of the width and forcing people to maneuver around them as they strolled. The unpleasantry from the barricade on the northwestern road out of town was quickly forgotten as they approached a large dwarf-run restaurant filling the air with the aroma of cheese and pastries.

And despite all of the worrying and stressing out Cecilia had gone through on their way there, Khujand could have sworn that her faded eyes glowed just a bit brighter than usual as her sister looked at her with a kindness and love he had never before seen. As they ascended the steps to the crowded, noisy restaurant in a Kaldorei longhouse, they all chatted amongst themselves irreverently, oblivious to the odd stares, perplexed comments and one shifty-eyed, silver-haired sentinel peering at them from behind a tree.


	27. Good Homecoming

Cecilia had practically fallen out of bed that evening, rushing to get herself and her husband ready for breakfast.

"Slow down, girl, tha family isn't goin' anywhere," he chuckled while obstinately remaining under the covers on the sitting area of the ground floor.

The Swiftfoot residence was formed by a hollowed out tree like many traditional Kaldorei dwellings, though with different dimensions than most. It was tall and thin with three floors but not much floor space. Unelia and Johan used the top floor as their bedroom, while the middle floor contained the bedroom of uncle Elindir on one side and Cecilia's niece Corrianna and her nephew, also named Elindir, on the other. The bottom floor consisted of the kitchen, storage area and common room. It was that common room where the two sisters had the final argument nearly a decade ago that led the once xenophobic Cecilia to flee Kalimdor in shellshock at the war crimes she had committed and to flounder in Booty Bay for a few years before finding her new self with Irien and Sonja in the Steamwheedle Cartel. She had been lying right there, on that soft sitting area of cushions and mattresses, as she finally resolved to run away from the only family she had ever known after twelve thousand years and venture into the unknown, naive and woefully unprepared.

How ironic that for the sisters' reunion, Cecilia found herself with a new name, new hair color, new tattoos, new life and a husband, but camped out in that same sitting area ten years later.

"Honey, they won't feel comfortable coming down until we're dressed!" she reminded him as she tossed him a kilt from his travel bag.

"So I can wear a loincloth in public but I gotta cover properly at home?" her husband asked in sincere confusion.

Cecilia continued digging through their things, trying to arrange their belongings as she heard Unelia's familiar limp already descending the ramp from upstairs.

"Every society has its contradictions, now come on!" She yanked the blanket off of him, folding it roughly and placing it with their travel gear as they both changed clothes right at the last second.

"Ahem," Unelia coughed obviously, announcing her presence before actually entering the ground floor.

Noticing that Khujand was milling about, Cecilia pulled them next to each other and chopped him in the lower back so he'd stand up straight.

"Gah!" he gasped as he corrected his posture only semi-voluntarily.

"Good morning, sister!" Cecilia called out to signal their readiness.

Unelia brushed the tarp over the doorway aside and entered the main area, minus the staff which she only seemed to use while outside. Her gown was a little more formal than most housewear for their people though not excessively so, and she appeared much more relaxed into herself than she had been the last time they'd seen each other just shy of ten years ago. Unelia inspected the room surreptitiously before facing them both.

"The camping trip should be over by now, and we're expecting uncle to return with the children soon," she started. "We were planning on eating a small breakfast in anticipation for a big lunch. That family that sells acorn bread and honey is still working down the road; Johan will be ready shortly and then we could go for a stroll. The two of you didn't see much last night, what with all the neighbors trying to meet you after so long."

"It would be nice to see the town at a more leisurely pace," Cecilia sighed. "It seems a lot has changed…it's more crowded now."

Unelia frowned slightly. "People have started leaving many groves that were harder hit by the societal changes; just like ours. Coupled with refugees from conflict and immigrants from the Eastern Kingdoms, and we find that empty space is hard to come by."

The two sisters looked down simultaneously, their reactions to the pretend paradise lost forming mirror images. Although Unelia was not the iconoclast - indeed, borderline heretic - that Cecilia was, she did have her own misgivings about change. Having been born after the effects of the Well of Eternity began but before the discovery and manipulation of arcane magic, Unelia had seen a different world and even more change than Cecilia had. Most night elves still followed their High Priestess faithfully, but few reaching the age of the two sisters were particularly happy about the swiftness of the outside world's demanding influence - whether conservative traditionalists like Unelia or free-spirited liberals like Cecilia.

Breaking the melancholy silence, Johan descended and the group of four made their way out to the street. The two men hung back, and much to Cecilia's relief, her brother-in-law was as talkitive, curious and just a tad bit nosy as ever. Even with all of Khujand's awkwardness, the fact that Johan was the only human he'd met other than Erikur who treated him like a person instead of a monster seemed to spur the jungle troll into speaking, and she was able to focus on her surroundings knowing her husband would have someone else to discuss…well, carpentry or stonemasonry or whatever it was that had them both so interested.

The previous night had been a whirlwind. Aside from beating up a fellow sentinel and threatening a group of her fellow Kaldorei in defense of her Darkspear mate, the majority of the night had literally been split between the flight there from Edune and merely sitting in the fusion restaurant as a stream of neighbors, old friends and curious onlookers took turns stopping by their table. More than a few of the humans, draenei and local night elves had sent dirty looks the way of the table hosting a troll, though the majority didn't seem to mind and none of the dwarves or worgen cared at all. Having lifespans lasting centuries - in the case of those born pre-inmortality like the two sisters, millennia - elves were masters of taking things slow and never rushing. The late night had been the most relaxing of their trip, and Cecilia was finally able to slow down, wind down and stop worrying about where they needed to go or what they needed to do next; in fact, it was their second night in Astranaar and they still had no plan for how long they would stay, how they would spend their time and how they would explain the long absence to Irien so she could explain it further to Allison.

It had been a wonderful, if overwhelming feeling, to finally be back in her family's only real home. Thinking of Serenity was painful and all but two of the originals had scattered; within a year or maybe less, Celonia would pass away and Velonia would emigrate to Astranaar as well. And although her birthplace of Suramar had been raised from the sea into the Broken Isles, it was not truly the hometown she'd once known. Her ten millennia in Serenity, like her two millennia in Suramar, were equally lost in time, sealing even more permanently in Cecilia's mind her comfort with her current life in Ratchet, apprehension over how she initially left her family notwithstanding.

And besides…she would always have Astranaar to visit, she marveled as the four happily ambled down the street at a snail's pace. Perhaps not every reception would be as warm as her initial return after ten years, but the eventual familiarity was part of the joy of being home. Just as well - the previous night had been exhausting. Not only had her sister and brother-in-law taken them to the restaurant, but an entourage of friends old and new as well. Niorith had run all the way back home and brought Delebria with her, resulting in another Serenity mini-reunion. Like her active duty partner, Delebria had changed little and unlike Unelia, walked without impairment despite also having been forced into retirement from injuries. Apparently as long as she didn't tax her hip flexors or rotator cuffs excessively, Delebria could jog and even go for light runs without issue. Due to her financial benefits as a legally disabled Sentinel veteran in a shattered society suffering from unemployment and inflation, however, the retired nightblade was not supposed to work. Coupled with the fact that much of her pension was embezzled before it even reached her town just like Celonia's, and Delebria had come to rely on Niorith financially as much as Niorith, still able-bodied and expecting a long life due to having been born after immortality started, had come to rely on Delebria emotionally. Despite Delebria's shared apprehension over a coming natural death which her other half likely wouldn't taste for decades, they supported each other quite well and it was heartening to see the two so upbeat, all things considered.

The new friends they had made were just as delightful. Faldreas, the druid who had tried to grab Khujand's arm, seemed eager to make up for their introduction by trying to explain druidic magic to the Shadow Hunter ad nauseum and even listening to a brief exposition on voodoo without judging or cringing. Luara, for her part, continued to pout after having been called out in front of her peers for her zealotry, but quickly warmed up and eventually became quite jovial once Cecilia let go of her anger and tried her best to keep the officer as involved in the conversations as possible. It was a fine line between being patronizing and being inclusive, but Luara actually ended up remaining with the group until the very end when the moon had set and the morning shift of the restaurant employees clocked in to work. Shocking even her sister with the changes within her over the past decade, Cecilia even hugged Luara at the end - and Luara almost hugged back. Such displays were not the norm in both such a reserved and martial society, but ten years among outlanders and with an insane best friend like Irien and a troll for a husband tend to alter one's behavior.

In the end, everyone had groggily said their goodbyes and vacated the restaurant for the breakfast buffet serving mostly non-elves or Kaldorei daywalkers, and at that point it was too bright outside for Cecilia to gauge how many odd stares their group was receiving; her sunglasses were in her travel bags which, through means she either hadn't noticed or didn't remember, had ended up at Unelia's house at some point during the night. The hours and hours that they spent talking and eating, then talking some more when neighbors arrived to eat next to them, then drinking tea, eating dessert, drinking more tea and talking some more were already cherished memories in her mind a night later but had worn the couple out as much as the long flight over there. By the time everyone had parted ways, they found themselves so exhausted that Unelia and Johan merely bid them good night and retired to their quarters on the third floor. There was no first-day gushing confession sessions recapping the past ten years of each others' lives or late day arguments over the circumstances of Cecilia's departure. It was simply 'good day, we'll see uncle and the kids tomorrow.' The whole night had been wonderful, but Cecilia admitted to herself that it ended on a strange note.

Khujand's voice intruded on her reminiscing about the previous night.

"Dear, tha lady is askin' if ya want spicy bread or plain," her husband whispered to her, bringing her back into the present.

"Huh?"

Snapping awake and in the present, Cecilia looked around and realized they had arrived. The Swiftfoot residence was still visible off in the distance, though the bottom two floors were obscured by the houses next to it - some of them also trees and others Kaldorei cottage style, with a single human dwelling sticking its proverbial finger in her eye. Astranaar had always been large, but with the explosion of development that had already begun just before she left, it seemed less like a town and more like a city.

Turning back to the bread-and-honey-selling family, Cecilia nearly smacked her own head in disbelief that she hadn't even looked. What was once a cart and outdoor cooking area on the plot down the street was now a naturally grown, hollowed out hovel halfway underground and with supply crates and containers strewn about in the back like some disorganized…well, Alliance town.

Cecilia looked to one of the members of the entrepreneurial family, who herself cocked her head to the side in an expression of vague recognition, though if she had truly figured out that Cecilia was the woman once known as Isurith, she didn't give any indication.

"Spicy, please," she answered finally, the aroma of baked bread and honey pulling her entirely into her present.

"The jar of honey we asked for will be ready tomorrow, right?" Johan asked a large purple-haired man presumably the father of the family of bakers.

The man Cecilia recognized as Nantar eyed their jungle troll companion warily before answering. "That it will…and, eh…perhaps I can throw in a little extra, seeing as how you have some company."

"You'll have to let us throw a little extra coin in, then," Johan replied.

"Well if I let you do that, then it wouldn't be a gift, would it?" the baker replied to the reply with more than a hint of offense mixed with his amusement.

"I always loved this place," Cecilia remarked to her sister as they took their breakfast and made their way up the road. "It's nice to see that some things in the homeland haven't changed."

As they struggled to eat while preventing the honey from dripping on their hands, Unelia led them on a scenic route through the island's roads, much more numerous and better organized but also narrower than they had been before. There was hardly a square foot of open space to be found, and even the closest thing to a town square - a sort of oblong rectangle off to one side of the main northwest-southeast road - had been replaced by the command tower tree. Waving to the very drowsy-looking Luara and Niorith as they passed by, Cecilia weaved in and out of the loiterers and errand runners for hire hanging around one of the town's main congregation points for business and discussion. It was still much more orderly than the other cities she'd visited during her days working security on a ship going from port to port, but by elven standards the mild noise and relative lack of personal space rendered the area uncomfortable for Unelia and even Johan.

Once past, they were able to chat about light topics again as they wove their way around the island. It wasn't possible to discuss any particularly heavy topics with their husbands around, but they were at least able to fill each other in on the basic life changes and current events which they hadn't been able to broach due to all the raucous friends and well-wishers the other night. Unelia's injury had relegated her to healing duties and occasional patrols from watchtowers as light artilery, but her limp was entirely new; it had begun slowly, as one would expect, until she found that using a staff when going for long walks eased the pain and made such long treks more bearable. Though she had been able to jog at the time when Cecilia had left, this was no longer the case. Johan was the same age as Khujand save a difference of a few months, and given the onset of natural death among the night elves - the first being the rather notable Shalasyr, the late wife of current head of the Watchers Jarod Shadowsong - Unelia began to wonder whether or not age would claim her before the history of cancer in Johan's family claimed him.

Like the degeneration she had witnessed in Celonia, her sister's gradual ageing caused Cecilia more anxiety about her own lifespan. Though Cecilia had to pop her joints in the morning a bit more than she had to at the end of the Third War and her stamina wasn't what it had been, she was thankful for the fact that she did not experience any aches and pains and the drier climate in the Barrens hadn't affected her respiratory system the way it had to many other elves. Unelia politely made no reference to the dim, weak glow that had largely faded from Cecilia's eyes - fel green insinuated arcane addiction, forest green meant one of Maiev Shadowsong's wardens, and ice blue meant undeath but no glow at all for an elf usually meant either imminent death or residual effects of drug abuse. Given Cecilia's good health relative to every other night elf her age, she knew her sister would discern the cause of her lack of eye glow and was grateful that Unelia never brought it up. Unelia did mention the grey streaks in Cecilia's hair as well as the grey in the roots when admiring the new dark blue color, but in an ancient society like theirs, commenting on signs of ageing was more of a compliment than anything else.

It had been an altogether pleasant walk and Cecilia's level of anxiety had remained low until they reached the house.

From up the road, two long-eared children with glowing eyes - a girl about ten years old and a boy half her age - were pointing at the four as they approached. Cecilia stopped dead in her tracks, nearly choking on the last of her sweet and spicy honeybread from both shock and her and her sister's husband bumping in to them.

"Hey, whashyu doin'-"

"Uni!" she cried out in disbelief. "Did they get back already?"

The girl had still been in diapers the last time Cecilia had seen her, yet Corrianna's face was unmistakeable. Though her skin was somewhere between that of the humans in the red mountains and the elves that came out at night and her hair was more or less human, her glowing silver eyes and long ears were completely Kaldorei. During the weeks Cecilia had actually spent at Astranaar, the young girl would crawl across the floor at lightning speed to greet her aunt, speaking near complete sentences surprisingly early as she demanded attention. Those same eyes were looking at her now, skipping across the moonstone with that same demand in her eyes.

"That's them," Unelia beamed. "We've sort of built this up, so be prepare-"

"ARE YOU MY AUNT?" the girl she assumed must be Corrianna yelled happily as she sprinted over to them.

The little boy, likely Elindir II, held up his oversized handmedown trousers as he bounded after his sister on bare feet. Unmistakeably half-elven as well, he bore the amber eyes of his great uncle and ran at Cecilia with no less glee as he smiled wide enough to flash his little peg-like teeth lacking fangs.

"Corrianna, get over here!" Cecilia said with her hands braced on her knees at first.

As the little half-elf with golden brown hair raced over, her aunt who hadn't stayed long enough to hear her speak met her halfway, lifting her up under the armpits and smothering her with kisses. Several neighbors that had been milling about hurried on their way to avoid the very un-elven scene, and Cecilia shifted the girl to one arm as she scooped Elindir up with the other.

"Who is this! Who is this! Who is this little munchkin!" she cackled while kissing the boy on the eyes.

"I'm little Elindir!" he giggled while trying to push away from the aunt he'd never met. "Big Elindir said you're my mom's sister."

"That means I'm your aunt! Oh, come here!" Cecilia squealed despite the two kids having already come and squeezed them even more tightly.

Corrianna held on for dear life despite having been a toddler when Cecilia had left, letting out a squeal of her own as her aunt spun them around. Elindir II may not have been old enough to comprehend the significance of the reunion, but he clung to his newfound aunt as well as the three of them twirled. Even with all the time spent away, even with the lack of contact with one of the kids, the family bond was there; any lingering anxiety even further drained out, leaving Cecilia even more unaware of her surroundings.

After a few minutes of bouncing her niece and nephew around, Cecilia came down from her natural high enough to rush over to her husband with the bundles of joy. Looking to her sister for an approving nod first, Cecilia then thrust the squealing, squirming children onto Khujand, who himself hadn't held children in just as long as Cecilia hadn't, though he seemed pleasantly surprised at their unprejudiced reaction.

"You look like a caveman," Corrianna said innocently and without humor. "Do you have any dinosaurs?"

"As a matter of fact, ya auntie and I rode on some ta get here!" Khujand replied with a gut laugh.

"My mommy's sister's boyfriend is fuzzy," Elindir the second said to nobody in particular as he rubbed his face on Khujand's shoulder.

"Husband, little bear. What do we say about boyfriends and girlfriends?" Unelia instructed, though with a raised tone as though it were a question.

"Save it for marriage!" both kids repeated without seeming to understand what any of it meant.

Cecilia shared a nervous look with her husband as he struggled to stop the balls of energy from slipping from his hands. Her sister's conservatism had returned, no matter how ironic it was considering the fact that her own relationship with Johan hadn't exactly been licit in the beginning; there had been no rules for marrying out of the race prior to the two of them. Hopefully, she assumed what she wanted of her younger sister though her expression when teaching her values to her kids had been unreadable.

Dropping to the ground after finishing greeting their aunt and new uncle, the kids ran jumping for hugs from their parents as well. Cecilia couldn't help but notice that they were more patient waiting for their mother to bend down to them than with their father, and wondered just how much Unelia's leg joints had degenerated during their separation.

"Big Elindir is inside," little Elindir chirped as he waddled after his sister, his stubby legs not yet coordinated enough to keep up with the surprisingly athletic young girl.

Even once they had scampered back into the house, Cecilia still felt her heart shifting in ways she hadn't even experienced at the time of Corrianna's birth. Melting within herself, she felt some sense of loss just for them running out of her view after a mere few minutes of hugging, and it took her quite a bit of self control not to leave the rest of the family and chase them inside.

"I want some of those!" she confessed involuntarily, surprising even herself that she had let it slip out loud.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna be givin' ya plenty of those as soon as we get back home," Khujand whispered into her ear.

"Oh my Goddess stop, my sister's ears are as sensitive as ours are!"

"Isurith...it's time to see uncle," Unelia said as she approached the whispering couple, though she refrained from moving fast to lead them inside. Her tone was as blank as her expression, and in her excitement Cecilia turned toward the home herself without waiting.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she exclaimed, this time actually leaving the others behind.

"Isu, listen-"

"Rotten egg!" Cecilia teased obliviously as Unelia hobbled after her.

As if sensing something awry, Khujand hung back with Johan and Cecilia soon lost sight of him, assuming they were discussing beekeeping or woodcarving or something like that. She vaguely thought that she heard her sister calling her name behind her, and slowed down ever so slightly to give her a fighting chance at catching up.

Cecilia burst through the tarp on the main doorway - which happened to be around the backside of the tree, away from the main road - and scanned the whole common room. Their bags were as they left them, and past the kitchen she could see the entryway from the ramp leading above. Heavy footsteps plodded on the ramp, with four smaller ones accompanying them and she knew her niece and nephew were leading her uncle down for another beautiful family reunion. She heard his voice before she saw him.

"So I take it my second niece's wanderlust has brought her back to little old Astranaar, yes?" joked a deep, pleasant sounding voice that was simply too jovial to be described as noble, unlike most druids as ancient as he.

The footsteps approached closer on the ramp, and Cecilia bounced up and down on her toes like a giant, giddy child, unable to contain herself in anticipation of finally seeing the man who was just as responsible for raising her as her mother and father. His voice was so kind, even after the way she had left the family, never blaming or shaming.

"You have no idea how much I missed you all!" Cecilia cried out, throwing propriety out the window as her hopes rose so high...

...only to be crushed into useless dust.

 _No_! she thought at the sight, refusing to believe it at first.

"And we, you, Isurith," Elindir said as the children led him through the entryway. "I know you prefer to go by a new name now, but to me you'll always be that same child getting into trouble back in Suramar."

He reached out with one hand to feel the entryway, steading himself as he stepped through. As large as uncle Elindir was, Cecilia was still taller, and he didn't quite have to duck to pass underneath the doorway they way she and her husband did.

 _No_! she thought again, both at the injustice and at herself. The children might see the change in her face, and for sure he would sense it.

"Oh...I...Yes! It's still me, no matter what my ID says," she forced out.

He swept his cane through the entryway, taking care that the white instrument didn't knock either of the kids over as he felt his was through. It was only when he entered the common room entirely that Cecilia confirmed it when she saw the red tip.

 _Elune, how can you let this happen_! she roared within her own mind.

Tilting his nose as if to search for the familiar scent of sandalwood she always wore, he smiled as he came to his own confirmation that it really was her. Always smiling; always pleasant, no matter how unfair life had been with him.

"You've dyed your hair, I believe," he chuckled as he tilted his nose up again, ensuring that his tinted sunglasses remained balanced on the bridge of his nose. "It seems as though you've remade yourself entirely out in that brave new world. We're proud of what that Irien friend of yours has told us, to be honest."

Fighting to keep her composure in front of the rest of the family, Cecilia nearly jumped when she felt Unelia's hand on her arm. The shorter sister looked up at her in disappointment, flashing her an 'I-tried-to-warn-you' sort of expression as they waited for their uncle to find his way to them, leaning on the special government-issued cane despite having no problems with back or leg support.

"Yes...yes, you could say I've forged my own space," Cecilia sighed at Unelia's prompting, not wanting to cause any awkward silences.

Elindir I already seemed to notice, yet his smile never faded as he tried to counsel his more abrasive yet still more passionate and even sensitive niece. As always, he neither allowed the negative to drag him down nor did he shy away from discussing it when necessary.

"Mortality has affected us all in different ways, Isurith," he said to Cecilia softly. "It is but a reminder from the Goddess of how much we must truly cherish what time we have left." His smile never faded, nor did it lose its sincerity, even as he discussed the changes in their people which would only lead to their eventual end.

"I know, uncle...I know..."

"You've just arrived from your camping trip, uncle," Unelia interrupted, eliciting a thankful nod from her younger sister. "Perhaps you and the kids would like to sit out back and get to know the new addition to our family. Isurith and I can prepare some apple cider for everyone, and we'll join you momentarily."

He grinned wide while ruffling Corrianna's hair, almost knocking the girl off balance. "That sounds like a plan," he beamed as he let the children lead him out the back entrance. Before he exited, he stopped one more time in front of Cecilia, almost sensing her presence. "We'll have plenty of time to catch up, Isurith. I'm not sure how long you and my new nephew will stay, but we're going to live every moment you're here to the fullest!"

"Of course, uncle," Cecilia said with forced enthusiasm, her heart still sunken in the bottom of her chest. "You can count on it."

The group of three walked out the back to meet the two husbands outside, and raucous laughter could be heard as uncle Elindir surprised Khujand with what little Zandali he had learned from the Shadowtooth tribe of dark trolls when they served as a regiment in the Sentinel Army during the Third War. Cecilia was left alone with her sister inside, grasping her shoulder to keep herself balanced.

"It's a bit much to take in at one time, I know," Unelia said consolingly as she gripped her staff more tightly in compensation for the larger sister using her as a crutch both literally and figuratively. "But uncle truly has accepted his fate, and he hasn't allowed it to control how he lives his life. The best we can do for him is to live much the same."

"I know, Uni, I know...it's just different from the others our people have lost since Hyjal. It's different when it's uncle."

Both sisters stared at their bare feet on the floor for a moment before Unelia breathed deeply and pulled Cecilia over to the kitchen with her. Cecilia followed along, knowing that moping around would do nothing to improve her mood and reaching out for something to preoccupy herself. Unelia began to search for the fine glasses - still in the same cupboard they'd been at the time Cecilia had left - and the taller sister followed suit, trying to focus on how happy her husband, brother-in-law, niece and nephew had sounded around her uncle regardless of his condition.

Without looking over at her, Unelia broached one of the several elephants in the room.

"Uncle is right about your stay; we haven't even had time to discuss things yet," she started. "We've already received several letters from Irien before you even arrived about the situation at your workplace. You may want to take a look at them."

"I will, don't worry, but I won't accept leaving in less than a week," Cecilia said with a bit more firmness in her voice. "We'd both even prefer more than that, but that depends on the situation there...and here, I guess." She peered at Unelia through her peripheral vision, fishing for a reaction.

The older sister already knew what she was getting at. "We've prepared for your visit, and at least a week's worth of activity is planned," she said politely. "Ralo'shan happens to be stopping through town in two days, and after that Delebria and Niorith actually wanted to have a homecoming party for you with the other sisters." The conversation skipped a beat, and Cecilia could already feel what was coming next. "And, perhaps after that...we need to talk."

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up despite her having anticipated such a comment. Though she was able to control her breathing and pulse, a number of scenarios ran through her head, all interspersed with images of her running out on the family during the daytime ten years ago. Unelia had been so kind up until now, but Cecilia should have seen this coming.

"Uni, I-"

"Leave it for now," Unelia said with a light yet firm chop of her hand in the air. "Enjoy your return to our home, and the introduction of your husband to a society living in accordance with the balance and the true faith of Elune. We're all quite proud of you having converted a primordial elf, by the way," Unelia said, using the recent neologism for trolls which the more politically correct, religiously inclusive night elves had invented. "We'll have time alone for just the two of us eventually."

Shamed into silence, Cecilia tried to let the tension seep out of her by keeping a mental scoreboard between herself and her sister, merely stressing herself out more through the oxymoronic process. As they helped each other balance the glasses of cider on a dish, she tried even harder to put the negative out of her head, fighting the sense of dread that her sister's terse letters really had been a sign of something other than shyness.


	28. Forgive to Understand

"Woot! Finallly!" Cecilia cried, swinging little Elindir around the common area like a mad woman.

"What does it say!" Corrianna demanded as she jumped up and down along with them.

"Wonderful news!"

"I think your aunt just won the lottery," Johan joked with the kids.

Cecilia literally tossed the letters in the air, allowing them to rain on the two children as they tried to snatch them up without knowing why. The pure bliss on her face was apparent as she took her niece and nephew's hands in one of hers each and twirled them around.

"I can't believe it, I was dreaming of this for so long!" she practically sang, eliciting an almost concerned look from Unelia.

Khujand, who had been sharing freshly brewed coffee with big Elindir on the porch, poked his head in to see the cause of the disruption. "Girl, what's gotten inta ya?"

Barely holding back her glee, Cecilia pumped her fists in the air while replying to her confused husband.

"I got _fired_!"

Her husband and sister both stood speechless, while her brother-in-law laughed along with the kids. Uncle Elindir, listening from outside, seemed to share in her satisfaction.

"Good riddance," he chuckled deeply. "Life is too short now - literally!"

"I know, right? Goddess, I feel like I had been dragging a lazy mountain giant all this time." Grabbing and missing Corrianna, Cecilia swept up little Elindir and smooched the child on his chubby chestnut cheek, bouncing him on a pillow afterward.

Clearing her throat to speak, Unelia held a concerned tone. "Sister, are you sure this is a time to celebrate? You just lost your source of employment."

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Cecilia asked rhetorically. Her grin was ear to ear as she slumped on the sitting area and let the kids roll around next to her. "I've worked far too long to put up will Allison's whiny, nagging oinking that she calls a voice anymore. Twelve millennia, I'm so done with waking up early and clocking in and performance evaluations! Good riddance to it all, I'm never lifting a finger again unless I feel like it."

Feeling in an exceptionally giddy mood, she snatched one of the pillows from the area and smacked Khujand in the head with it.

"Ya've gone mad, Cici!"

"You're working from now on," she chortled with him as he slid the pillow back inside. "And you're paying for everything."

"Whatever ya want, dear."

"Unless I feel like training the outriders sometimes, just to keep myself sharp. But that's on my own terms or if Valmar needs help," she said in reference to her husband's former prison buddy that taught fencing to the Steamwheedle runners part time. "Otherwise I'm just going to do auction house and other business stuff with Irien. Or…I could take up painting again."

Unelia sensed the swipe and took it in a stride, though that didn't prevent Cecilia from notching another tick mark on her mental scoreboard.

"Have you decided on how much longer you can stay, then?" Unelia asked, letting the comment slide.

"Four days here in Astranaar, if that's alright-"

"Are you seriously going to finish that sentence?" Unelia said with some measure of legitimate offense in her voice.

"No, of course not. I just wanted to see how many words I could get out of my mouth before you stopped me."

This time Unelia had to purse her lips when Cecilia flashed her a cheeky grin, more to hold back her own laughter than another barb. Robbing Unelia of the chance to finally shoot back, the younger sister rose from the sitting area and forced the more reserved of the two in a one-armed hug before continuing.

"We've been here maybe four days now, and we can spend another four before leaving. After that, we'll have to head to Raynewood and possibly remain for another day or two to thank Keeper Ordanus properly and negotiate terms for Khujand to enter our lands again for the next visit."

"So you can only stay in Ashenvale for another six days?" Unelia's tone was still controlled, though less so than normal as what almost sounded like disappointment crept in.

Cecilia actually frowned as well upon seeing her sister's reaction, the constant waves of guilt over leaving and having left as well as torment over what she perceived as Unelia's mind games creating a bizarre chain of mood swings the retired sentinel - and now retired postal road defender - wasn't used to. She hugged her shorter but older sister a bit more closely as she tried to justify their short visit, though she felt disappointed herself.

"We'd spent a week on a…beachside vacation in Durotar after leaving Ratchet," Cecilia explained, telling a white lie to avoid scaring her sister with stories of Durotar, the Horde's home territory. "Then it took us three days or so to reach Raynewood, we spent a few days there, four days at Serenity, a few more days at Raynewood, a day at Edune…at this point, we've been away from home and Khujand's job for over three weeks."

"That's about right…" Unelia answered with a flat tone, though her guilt tripping of Cecilia didn't seem intentional despite its effectiveness.

"And…you know, Uni, another four days here, maybe two in Raynewood, then we have to get our mounts at the border and ride back to Ratchet."

Unelia raised an eyebrow incredulously. "You rode from Ratchet to the border by sabre?"

"Um, yeah…by _sabre_. Ahem, uh, we rented sabres because of the beach vacation. But next time we're going to fly! It will be much quicker and easier!" Cecilia forced an upbeat tone, feeling as though her heart was crushed upon seeing Unelia - the sister she had abandoned and who had rightfully written a pair of cold, blunt letters - actually displaying a sense of disappointment at the thought of Cecilia leaving so soon.

Having noticed the tension, Johan took the kids to play outside in front of the uncle and two husbands, leaving the two sisters to continue their uncomfortable talk.

"I suppose it was my fault for assuming you'd just fly straight here after I sent for you," Unelia sighed in reference to the letter she'd written to Cecilia asking for her to come. The same letter that Cecilia had left sitting in her post office box for two weeks before opening.

"No, don't say that! You didn't do anything wrong!" Cecilia's hands were trembling as she cupped her sister's face, trying desperately to get the crestfallen woman's attention.

Reaching up to pull Cecilia's hands down and clasp them with her own, Unelia waited for a moment before speaking with control in her voice again.

"Let's leave this for another time. We still have four more days of seeing you here, and Ralo'shan will be arriving with Geldor soon. They'll both be interested in seeing your development," the suddenly calm elder said, her monotone restored.

The impending visit helped bring Cecilia down a bit. She had known Ralo'shan briefly at Suramar before the Sundering, if only as an acquaintance through social circles. The former Eternal Watcher turned motivational speaker had touched the hearts of many - Kaldorei especially - with her story of a thousand years of isolation in a Silithus watchtower by herself and how she reentered normal society. A 'surprise' meeting between Cecilia and the priestess prearranged by Irien had been a major step in her recovery not only from the shock of leaving Kalimdor and her people's general isolationism but also the guilt over the crimes Cecilia had committed during her time with the Silverwing Sentinels. Considering that Geldor, Irien's uncle and now Ralo'shan's husband, had arranged for Cecilia and her companion Sonja to join the Steamwheedle ship with Irien that saved her life in more ways than one, it was imperative that Cecilia show her best face to both priestess and druid. They had both helped her build her new, mortal, post-Long vigil life as much as Sonja, Irien and Khujand had, and she felt it a shame for them to see her moping as though she hadn't moved on from the self-loathing.

"You're right," Cecilia panted. "You're right."

"So you've been gone from home for three weeks and some days."

"Yes," Cecilia replied shyly.

"You'll spend four more here, perhaps two in Raynewood, and another three going home."

"Yes."

"So by the time you arrive home, the two of you will have been gone for an entire month." Unelia was breathing a bit more heavily, but she spoke carefully and in calmly, a barely noticeable vein in her neck bobbing as she breathed but her face motionless.

"I think so, yes. A month this time. I guess I won't be working regularly anymore, but Khujand-"

"You don't have to explain." Unelia looked into Cecilia's eyes. She was neither stern nor pleading, but appeared quite serious and certain of herself. "Next time you'll come straight to Ashenvale. Fly. You spend just a day or so at Raynewood and you come directly to Astranaar."

"We will, I swear we will, Uni," Cecilia said, shifting to the lower rank within the household without hesitation.

"You will spend a whole month here with us. Not even in Serenity." Unelia's nostrils were flaring, though not from anger as she danced around the topic of their rapidly disappearing ancestral grove. "Velonia will have moved here within six months based on what Celonia has been telling me in her letters."

"Six months?" Cecilia asked in shock. "I thought it would maybe be another year!"

Unelia waved the topic away, steering away from a talk neither of them wanted. "Perhaps she was trying to spare your feelings, but Celonia is sure. Half a year from now, Velonia will be the last remaining original inhabitant of Serenity; she'll resign as the village commander and then stay with us until she gets back on her feet. I stay in touch with everybody who would think of visiting anyway - I will see to it that we move on, and…" Unelia's voice hitched for only a split second before she continued. "Move on, and don't dwell on the past. Several of us are here, me, uncle, Niorith and Delebria, and Vadia is nearby at the House of Edune. That's where the originals of Serenity will visit from now on; either here or there. And you will not come here after a year, Isu; six months from now, Velonia will be on our doorstep and you and my brother-in-law are to come at once." She straightened her back and composed herself rather quickly, silently commanding Cecilia to follow suit. "Is that understood?"

Fighting to maintain eye contact, Cecilia nodded in affirmation. Regardless of any mental scorekeeping, Unelia was undisputably the head of the family.

"Alright, then. Cheer up. Our guests will be here any minute now, and we need to be ready to entertain," Unelia said as she rubbed a circle on Cecilia's back. Just as Cecilia started to relax, her older sister dropped another bombshell. "Enough of this. We still have time for 'the talk' later on."

Cecilia's eyes shot open. "Wait, isn't that what we just did!?" she asked nervously.

"No, we didn't," Unelia said as she shook her head. "Not by a longshot. But forget all that for now. We've already planned your next vacation, you're going to see two more old friends. Chin up, back straight," she ordered with a lightly sarcastic tone as she poked her younger sister in the back with her staff.

Cecilia followed, the ominous feeling of the coming difficult discussion weighing her down to the point where she felt the need to run outside and roll around in the grass with her niece and nephew to just forget about it all.

* * *

"I can assure you, sister, they've already checked in," inkeeper Kimlya assured a very impatient Cecilia as she flipped through the guestbook for the third time.

"Sentinel Niorith says she just saw them around the side of the buiding!" Cecilia protested politely, swearing she'd seen a storm crow darting underneath the awning of the open-air ground floor.

"Isu, they're here, just be patient." Unelia appeared embarrassed at her younger sister's eagerness, but to no avail.

Corrianna was already busy jabbering away about the world, irreverently unconcerned with whether or not anyone was actually listening to her. "When we saw Priestess Ralo'shan before, she gave me strawberries. Strawberries grow better in climates like what they have in the Eastern Kingdoms but some people are trying to breed a variety for northern Kalimdor. Northern Kalimdor has a temperate climate and Ashenvale's forests are technically evergreen forests even though…"

"Yeah…yeah…yeah…" Khujand murmured rhythmically as he humored his niece, trying his best to appear interested as she rambled on and on about anything and everything.

Once she'd relaxed a bit, Cecilia had actually been the one to drag the family to Kamlya's inn to receive their old friends the moment they arrived, pushing and prodding until all seven of them had made their way across the island to wait. The flight route from Darnassus to Lor'Danel and then the Zoram settlement and then Astranaar was supposed to be rather regular, but the couple was late.

Or so the family had thought, until a familiar silver braid flapped down the ramp from the second floor of the enormous inn that had been expanded to three floors total over the past decade. Her light brown sandals donned even indoors as always, the once Eternal Watcher and now professional inspirer nearly slid all the way down the final ramp as she saw the six familiar faces and one new one.

"I knew you had already arrived!" Cecilia said nonsensically as she fought to contain her excitement.

Struggling to maintain her balance as the three-hundred pound former sentinel snatched her up, Ralo'shan let out a giddy laugh considered rare for Kaldorei of her generation.

"Your aura has changed so much!" Ralo'shan chirped admiringly as she reeled from the unintentional bear hug.

"You were a huge step toward that!"

Unelia stepped forward to overwhelm her fellow reserved Sister in Elune as well, and the kids began tugging on Ralo'shan's uncharacteristically casual skirt and short sleeved shirt, the four family members blocking her against the ramp with a small people square.

"I'm happy to see all of you too! It's been a while since we've visited these parts," Ralo'shan chortled, temporarily setting her conservatism aside.

A more unfamiliar pair of sandals came clapping down the ramp out of Cecilia's view, though she recognized the gait of the man as he favored his left knee.

"Alright, who wants strawberries!" she heard Geldor say to the gasps of the rest of the family save Khujand and uncle Elindir. When Cecilia pulled away from Ralo'shan, she understood what had caught everyone's attention.

"Druid Rainsong!" she blurted out as her confusion and bemusement mixed together in a strange natural cocktail.

Wearing a paid of corduroy shorts, a floral-patterend rayon t-shit unbuttoned at the top and leather sandals with socks, Geldor Rainsong was only missing a straw hat that could accomodate his antlers to complete the look. Coupled with Ralo'shan's super light shirt and skirt - which scandalously hung an inch above her ankles - and the two of them looked like they were the ones ready for a beach vacation. Following his wife's lead, the strawberry-bearing husband actually allowed Johan and Elindir to pull him into an uncharacteristic hug as well. Not wanting anyone to feel left out, the retired Druid of the Talon ambled over to the big Shadow Hunter at the same time that the retired Priestess of the Moon turned to face the new addition to the family.

"Live long and prosper, friend," Geldor greeted Khujand in passable Zandali that Cecilia knew Sonja must have taught him before the bombing of Theramore.

"Daag, Sonja wasn't joking nieh she said you wollogong Zandali," was all Cecilia understood from her husband's enthusiastic response in his mother tongue to the crow druid's linguistic capabilities.

Ralo'shan eyed the jungle troll and then Cecilia as though she still didn't quite understand the allure of interracial relationships even all those years after the end of isolation, though Cecilia also knew Ralo'shan was the last person on Azeroth who would judge the choices of others. Maintaining a polite distance, the retired priestess tied the two conversations together.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope your entrance to our people's territory wasn't too difficult," she said in her priestess voice.

"Oh, well...it's certainly been better than goin' through tha Barrens was," Khujand chuckled, only Cecilia comprehending the full extent of the joke. "But I am happy ta finally see it from tha other side. I hope, one day, freedom of travelin' will be possible without barriers."

"Amen," answered Ralo'shan and Cecilia simultaneously. Cecilia flashed coy smile when she saw her husband's smirk at her sudden religiosity, though given that the newest guests had arrived only a moment ago, there was little time for them all to speak in the lobby of the inn.

"Elindir the first, why don't we drop these treats off before they're all devoured. I'm sure we have a lot of catching up to do," Geldor said as he shifted the crate of strawberries. Turning to the two non-elves, he smiled warmly, his behavior mirroring Elindir's just a little bit. "And you two as well - I'm sure there's quite a bit of news on both sides of the border."

"More news than I wish we had," Johan sighed, referencing some political problems near Mor'shan the human had detailed to the family just the other night.

Corrianna and Elindir the second in tow, the four menfolk bid the women farewell as they returned to the Swiftfoot residence, all six of them sneaking strawberries from the crate at such a rate that Cecilia doubted she'd get to eat any before they were all finished. Ever demure and accommodating, Ralo'shan stood with her hands clasped together, refusing to suggest an apt place to sit down despite being the new guest of honor at Astranaar.

"Well?" asked Unelia with an expectant grin.

"Oh, you know me, sister Swiftfoot. I'm fine sitting anywhere, really."

"Ralo'shan you have to choose!" Cecilia chortled as she took the reluctant woman by the arm, letting Unelia take her by the other.

Resisting very little, Ralo'shan allowed herself to be guided to the main street as the two sisters continued prodding her to pick any place. Noticing a tea house directly across from the inn, she pointed to it with her nose (both arms were locked) and the three entered. After being seated and listening to the problems of several other patrons - the renown of Ralo'shan's motivational speeches caused her to be approached for help by strangers all the time - the three were finally able to relax over a warm drink and push past the obligatory pleasantries Cecilia would have loved to skip but which neither of the two older night elves would be willing to forego.

The lull in the conversation that followed was a comfortable one, and none of the three seemed in a hurry to break it. The green tea with mint leaves in it was rather plain, though that was to the liking of the two elders, and it was still soothing to Cecilia's throat after all the talking she'd engaged in with old friends and family members lately. Her relationship with Khujand was based more on quiet chats and physical contact than long, voiciferous heart-pouring-out sessions and even Irien, as boisterous as she was, was only one person; there was only so much they could say to each other in the course of a day. Over the past whirlwind of a week, however, Cecilia had been talking with multiple people about multiple topics nonstop, and her vocal chords almost felt a bit tired.

The lull was broken eventually, however, after a visit by another advice-seeker to the former Eternal Watcher - who herself never seemed to tire despite her subdued nature.

"So when do we get to see glowing eyes mixed with tusks?" Ralo'shan asked with an expression that was almost cheeky by her standards.

Caught off guard not only by the blunt question but by her sister's laughter, Cecilia quickly sought for a response. "Tusks don't glow!" Her response was not as stellar as she had hoped, and her sister only laughed even more.

"I take it that you're in the midst of trying?" the retired priestess asked as if she had read the retired sentinel's mind. Which was entirely possible, considering the fact that she could literally read people's minds.

Cecilia could feel herself blushing already, and then blushing because she was blushing. She was a far cry from prudish unlike the other two women at the table, but for reasons she didn't quite understand, the topic of her own reproduction gave her a very exposed feeling. "Yes, we tried for a few weeks before the vacation, but with all the traveling and staying with other people, we haven't had the chance to...you know."

Unelia was blushing as well, obviously trying to blot out thoughts of her sister having relations just a floor below her kids. And it was like Unelia to think of it as 'relations' and not sex, as most people called it. Or banging each other, as Cecilia called it. And her husband also had something he preferred to call it, but Ralo'shan interjected again.

"A few weeks? That's it? You'll need to try a little longer than that. Even with a troll for a husband, elves just don't conceive that quickly or easily."

"Wow!" Cecilia blurted out without pretense. "Ralo'shan, that is the closest thing to racy I've ever heard you say. I am honestly surprised."

"We're just speaking in private as dear friends. There's no need for an exceptional amount of caution." She sipped some more of her green tea and savored the plain taste before continuing. "Anyway, I think you and your husband would have lovely looking children."

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Unelia chimed in. "Our people came from theirs and within a generation, we were in denial." She poked Cecilia in the arm to draw her attention. "You're too young to remember and it was already taken for granted by your time that elves and trolls were supposed to be unrelated. But Ralo'shan and I remember. Oh, do you remember that librarian who was declared a heretic for suggesting the rumors of a link between the two races?"

Ralo'shan flashed a sad smile to nobody. "I really don't want to think of what happened to her. She just disappeared after a lot of complaints from the highborne, but more than a few of us suspected it to be true. I mean, look at Isurith's husband; he is to us what the vrykul are to Johan's people."

All three shared a laugh though not at the absent jungle troll's expense, and Cecilia felt just a little more comfortable discussing the topic. As of that evening, she would only be working whenever she felt like it; she didn't doubt for a minute that Khujand wouldn't mind, and his patriarchal upbringing had even led him to occasionally hint at her staying at home if they were to be having children. As if sensing what she was thinking without directly reading her thoughts, Ralo'shan pressed further on the topic of what to do.

"Unelia here had the support of your ancestral grove when Corrianna was first born. Have you considered flying up here for the birthing?"

Cecilia tapped her temple with her pointer, trying to remember if she had planned that far ahead or not. "Honestly, the topic has never come up. We were planning on children within a few months of meeting each other on Draenor. You know when you've met 'the one,' yes? Like, the right one and you know it?"

"So you planned on having kids without thinking of the logistics?" Ralo'shan asked with legitimate surprise.

"Erm...I suppose that's it, yes. We just felt so comfortable about it, we never felt the need to discuss it. Khujand tends to agree with whatever I ask, like, about number of kids, names, and so forth." Before she even finished her sentence, she noticed Unelia rubbing her palms together in a prayer to protect her sister from the evil eye, and Cecilia had to fight back a smirk.

"You need to meet Raene at some point. If you arrive early enough, her volunteers can actually help with parenting classes," Ralo'shan remarked casually to an entirely lost Cecilia.

"Parenting classes?"

"I don't think you ever met Raene when you were here," Unelia said after finishing her prayer and her tea. "Raene Wolfrunner operates a volunteer-run compound for birthing somewhere nearby. Our people forgot much about childbirth and parenthood during immortality, and her small community is dedicated to assisting new mothers and fathers of our kind."

Cecilia's ears pricked up. She and Khujand really hadn't planned much for parenthood at all, and the beginning of the conversation had actually made her feel embarrassed for their lack of preparation. This Wolfrunner person, however, had her interested.

"So they teach about, I guess health topics and changing diapers?" she asked innocently.

"Ha! Yes, yes they will teach you how to change diapers," Ralo'shan gut laughed as Unelia actually dropped her forehead onto the table. "That's really such a small detail, though. I've volunteered there myself just to see what it's like. They're always in need of help as well, so if you offered to assist sort of as a way to learn the ropes...well, I can't guarantee her response, but it would like be beneficial for you both if she accepted."

"And do you think Khujand would be allowed in?" Cecilia asked with a worried look. "I mean, legally he's allowed in our lands now, but would a private community like that accept his presence?"

Ralo'shan ran a hand through her hair and looked to Unelia for assistance. "It's hard to say," the older sister said cautiously. "They focus on rekindling the parental instincts in our people, so it's a very Kaldorei centric atmosphere." Unelia went for another sip before realizing she had already finished her tea and nudged the cup aside. "She isn't always here in town. Whenever I hear of her next, I'll make sure to discuss the matter with her in private."

"Thanks, because come to think of it, it's better to start planning these things as soon as possible seeing as how late we are," Cecilia said while slurping the rest of her tea. She failed to notice the shift in her sister's demeanor.

"There's no need to thank your family," Unelia said with a tone so flat that it even seemed to fool Ralo'shan. "Family never abandon each other."

Cecilia pretended to drink her tea for longer than she actually was as she tried to stop her heart from racing. For only one split second did she catch a glimpse of Unelia's narrowed eyes before the older sister had returned to smiling pleasantly again.

* * *

The moon had already set by the time the kids were in bed and Ralo'shan and Geldor had returned to their room at the inn. Apparently, a drunk dwarf couple had fallen out of a tree and needed on the spot healing, and Unelia had responded to the call despite having already taken time off her part time work at the temple in anticipation of Cecilia and Khujand's visit. What resulted was a rare moment that, with Khujand gulping the rest of the apple cider from a few days ago in the kitchen, Cecilia was left with a rare moment to actually talk to her brother-in-law on the porch as they watched the sun gradually appear and blind them both.

Johan had always felt a connection to the forest that made him feel out of place among other humans, he had told Unelia and Cecilia both years ago. Seeing how much he had changed after a decade among the Kaldorei, however, was rather remarkable. Even his movement and expressions had slowed down to the speed of an elf's, and aside from his appearance, there was very little about him that seemed human. Were Cecilia to close her eyes, she'd feel like she were just hanging out with a very short night elf man.

That did help with her version of 'the talk' she held with that half of the couple. While Johan hadn't been affected by Cecilia's running away from home ten years ago the way Unelia had, the man had been there to pick up the pieces of what Cecilia had broken. Coupled with her treatment of them both due to their relationship, and she realized that she did owe Johan an apology as well. Unelia and Johan had pursued each other before the night elves even joined the Alliance, and the older sister may very well have been the first night elf to marry from another race, period. It was unprecedented, especially for a community like Serenity that was so small that it didn't even yet have a name at the time. Cecilia had at first demanded that Johan be killed when the human was found lingering in Ashenvale after the Battle of Mount Hyjal, and sulked when Priestess Lamynia had allowed him to live given his respect for nature. She had tried to frighten him out of the forest a few times along with Gwynneth, and remained adamantly opposed to Unelia's attempts to reach out to the man, who was at that time still a teenager. When the truth of the relationship came out into the open, Cecilia and other extremists like her and Gwynneth helped to drive him away from their village, and Unelia soon followed, unable to live separated from him. By the time they reemerged from the wilderness a year later, the Alliance had moved in to Serenity and the colonization was almost complete; Cecilia's opposition to the infiltration of Kalimdor by outlanders was for naught.

And what made things worse was that Unelia and Johan both forgave her unconditionally upon their return. It made her feel like she was nothing.

That was all in the past, but not her departure from Kalimdor a decade ago. Cecilia regretted nothing - of that, she had absolutely no doubt. It was her departure that led her to discover new purposes in life after the Long Vigil and a new love for waking up every day after the end of immortality. Of course, those purposes and love only came after several years of a living hell of poverty and drug abuse, but she didn't even regret that; emotionally, she'd come out stronger in the end, and it was that sequence of mistakes starting from her war crimes with Silverwing up to her bottoming out at Booty Bay and then her work with Steamwheedle that had made her the new woman she was that day.

No, she regretted nothing. And yet the guilt over having run away without saying goodbye still lingered.

For a human, Johan was quite perceptive, and sensed what was bubbling inside of her given enough time sitting on that porch.

"You know...everything in life I have, I have because I left the Eastern Kingdoms," Johan began thoughtfully once there was a lull in the conversation. What was it with lulls and philosophical discussions?

"I don't blame you for having wanted to leave at all," he continued in earnest. "I know that feeling all too well. And I must be fair and admire the life you've built for yourself without assistance." He fidgeted in his seat and Cecilia knew he almost didn't want to say it. "That being said, I do believe that Uni was more hurt by your departure then by the circumstances under which she and I first left Serenity."

"I know. When I ran the two of you out of town, and really truly oppressed you, she knew you and her were leaving in order to be with each other," Cecilia sighed. "It was a choice on her part that she didn't regret for a second, just like I don't regret mine. But when I left, I'm sure it felt like a slap in the face."

"She felt unwanted, Isu. Not like you were running toward something you desired, but like you were just running away from her and the life she'd salvaged for us after the chaos of Kalimdor being opened up to the world." Johan spoke as though he were one of the Kaldorei rather than a newcomer from the outside world, and he never would see any irony in it - he truly felt like he belonged with their people.

"So what do I do, then, Johan? What do I say?"

He ran a hand through his blonde locks, even more wild and unkempt than they had been all those years before. As neat and organized as Unelia was, she seemed to prefer her husband looking like he had been living as a nomad in the woods, just like when she'd first found him camping out as a pilgrim in the land of the 'dark elves.'

"I really can't say, Isu," he said apologetically. "I wish I could. Believe me, I wish she could let it go too. But you know that she hasn't."

"Oh Goddess, do I know. I feel it in the way she talks."

This time, it was Johan's turn to sigh. "The only advice I'd give is not to plan out what you're going to say. Speak honestly from what you feel when she finally does choose to speak. You know you're sincere and that your goal wasn't to hurt anybody, and you know that Unelia admires your tenacity and desire to survive in the ugliness of the outside world, regardless of her own lifestyle preferences."

Trying and failing to think of something to say, Cecilia sufficed with remaining on the porch in silence until the brightness of the sun became too much to bare. Rising to retire for the day, she turned to Johan as he began to leave, also having found nothing else to say.

"I'm glad that you haven't held anything against me, brother. I wouldn't be able to blame you if you did."

Johan just rolled his eyes and held out a hand to silence her. "Don't even worry about it. Forgiveness leads to understanding, understanding leads to peace. I may have been born into a family of Light worshippers, but I follow Elune by choice and believe in that mantra one-thousand percent." He was already halfway out of sight when he spoke once more, as loudly as he could to be heard but without risking waking the children. "You'd better get some rest. Niorith and Delebria are the ones throwing the party. They didn't tell Unelia, but I think there will be dancing."

"Oh by the night, not dancing!" she said sarcastically, though not loud enough for her brother-in-law to hear it.

Inside the common room on the ground floor, Cecilia found her big troll of a husband half asleep, fighting with his all to stay awake and wait for her. Crawling into his arms, she actually wasn't the first to fall asleep for once. The rumble of his lungs against her back soothed her nerves somewhat, and she tried to push thoughts of 'the talk' out of her mind. Tomorrow would be a homecoming party for her, she told herself. Nothing could ruin it for her except herself and her own anxiety.

Sleep eventually did come. And all through the night, all Cecilia could dream of was a vague, barely visible memory mostly lost in the past, with some sort of a meadow that was now sunken under the sea. More than two thousand years before immortality had even started, two sisters ran through a field on the single megacontinent of Kalimdor, wondering merely if they would become famous painters one day, marveling at the brand new system of water carriers called aqueducts.

If only those two girls could have leapt forward to see what would happen to the world...countless years, all of them lost in time as worlds were born and died elsewhere in the universe. All of them were years that those two girls spent together, weighing less on the scales than the past ten years spent apart.


	29. Party Like It's -1999

"Ouch, not so tight!"

Cecilia winced as Delebria tightened one of the braids on her head, twisting it even further and tying it with an elastic band.

"It has to be tight so the curls will remain long enough for the party," the retired nightblade explained to the retired sentinel. "Your hair is too fine otherwise."

"Not like dwarven hair at all," added Unelia as she leaned against the wall in the common room of the house. She had switched between reading a small gazette circulated through Astranaar weekly and inspecting Delebria's painstaking work.

"Honestly, I would have been fine just tying it in a ponytail or something. I don't think I've had my hair done since arcane magic was still legal," Cecilia remarked as Delebria twisted another one of the tight braids.

"Arcane magic _is_ legal again, technically, but I know what you mean." Inspecting the last of the braids, Delebria stepped back and slipped a kerchief over Cecilia's scalp. "But you aren't doing this for you. You're doing it for everybody that wants to see you back."

"What everybody is this? It's only our small group, you guys can't just see me dressed casual?"

It was already nearing the early morning time, and Cecilia had fought the preparations for the homecoming party for as long as she could. Being a martial society, the night elves were sticklers for organization and punctuality. Unelia had prodded Cecilia into buying a new outfit days ago - something more concealing than the leathers currently popular with younger Kaldorei - and had tried to pin the younger sister down to have her hair done from the early evening. Having spent the past decade among outlanders who largely lived without such restrictions - most humans outside of Stormwind and orcs outside of Orgrimmar still had difficulty with concepts such as waiting in line and taking one's turn - Cecilia had been strongly affected by their habits. If anything, the strict organization would make more sense for beings with short lifespands, and the lack of attention to time would make more sense for elves given their long lifespans. Duty to Nordrassil had changed them, however, and Cecilia had been shocked to learn that for a party which was supposed to begin at five in the morning, Unelia actually expected them to show up at five in the morning.

"We want to see you making extra effort for us," the elder sister said, breaking Cecilia's train of thought. "That's what social gatherings are about."

Delebria stretched her worn fingers, grimacing in an exaggerated fashion as she did so. "Trust me, it will be fun. Perhaps we aren't as wild as what you saw spending years on a goblin passenger ship, but tonight we're going to party like it's the year negative nineteen ninety-nine before the First War."

Unelia bristled at the mention of her sister having worked for the Steamwheedle Freight Service. Cecilia was unchangeably tied to the goblin cartel now, not only having been pulled out of poverty through working security for them along with Irien and Sonja, but also having bought the duplex on land owned by a relative of their trade prince and with a loan extended by a cartel-owned bank. There was no turning back, but her association with a non-factional entity that put money before morals obviously bothered Unelia to no end.

Deftly changing the subject, Cecilia sought surrender, not wanting to disappoint anyone. "Just for you guys, I'll try this curly hair thing tonight, and you can have fun watching it while bouncing on my toes," she joked much to Delebria's delight. "Maybe on the next visit I'll even let you paint my nails."

At the last comment, Delebria frowned. "I was planning on doing that next!"

"Hey, don't push your luck. I'm getting my hair done for the first time in a literal eon and even decided to wear a dress - Irien, forgive me." The last comment was meant as a joke due to the dislike of pomp she shared with her best friend, though her sister was already perturbed.

"Forgiveness is from the divine, not those on Azeroth," Unelia reminded the younger sister firmly.

"You're right. Goddess, forgive me for wearing a dress," Cecilia joked again.

"You said you like the dress."

Eyes focused on the gazette, Unelia radiated a rare uptightness as Cecilia realized that her sister's taking offense was over more than the sewn fabric itself. Feeling contrite, she crossed the room and forced Unelia into a hug. Though her reserved older sister didn't enjoy such displays, she didn't fight it and didn't even seem startled by the kiss on her forehead - another habit Cecilia had brought back from the outside world.

"I love the dress and I loved picking it out even more," she said with a warm smile. "It's nice to loosen up and accept things being different sometimes, isn't it?"

The double meaning wasn't lost on Unelia, nor was the attempt at trucemaking. She patted the younger sister's arm and tried to sit on the chair Delebria had moved in front of the mirror in the common room. When Cecilia refused to let go, Unelia refused to lower herself to the immaturity. Which only spurred Cecilia even more intensely to a type of behavior she normally wouldn't even indulge in with Irien.

"Isu, I get it. You can let go now."

"But I love you so much, big sister!"

Delebria covered half her face with her hand, trying not to laugh as she searched for something else to look at.

"Alright, I need to get my own hair done now."

"But I love you so much!" Cecilia cackled as she squeezed Unelia even more tightly.

"This is immature."

"Because I love you so much!"

Unelia finally tried to walk to the chair, and Cecilia released her grip only enough for Unelia to shuffle slowly without actually breaking the hold. She pursed her lips to fight the laughter back, trying in vain to preserve the facade of seriousness.

"Isurith!"

"Give me a kiss!"

"Isurith, stop this at once!" Unelia commanded with the reluctant laughter audible in her voice as well. She lowered herself to the point of struggling when Cecilia literally puckered her lips and rotated her head in circles rapidly, threatening to force it on her older sister. "This is undignified!"

"You know how you can make this stop!" Cecilia chortled, and Delebria actually gave them her back as she started laughing out loud.

"You're twelve-thousand years old, this is foolishness!"

"Baby I'm a fool for you, something something something!" Cecilia sang, forgetting the lyrics to a cheesy tune some of the gnomes in town had been humming.

Seeming to tire from the childishness, Unelia pecked Cecilia on the cheek and was released into the chair. As she grinned to herself, Cecilia ticked another mark on her mental scorecard in preparation for the eventual serious discussion her sister was torturing her with. She was finding it easier to focus on her surroundings and the joy of visiting when she was able to take small, playful jabs here and there.

Cecilia shook the thoughts out of her head. "Delebria, can you spike Uni's hair up with some of that gel you have?"

"What?! Don't listen to her!"

Laughing heartily before they got started on the hour it took to cut and oil Unelia's hair, the three former soldiers in the Sentinel Army all relaxed and chatted lightly as the time flew by. By the time all three of them had finished, Delebria realized they were now late for a gathering that was to be held at her own apartment.

"Ah, I have to go get things ready!"

Admiring the light curls in her hair that made her feel like a giant teenager - she didn't quite enjoy that feeling but she enjoyed the effort Delebria had put into it - Cecilia tried to teach her friend to relax the way she'd learned to.

"Come on, nobody is supposed to show up exactly at the stated time. Where's the fun in that?"

"No, Niorith will feel embarrassed, you know her. We have to prepare the place so we can surprise you!"

How quaint it was that her people, being so used to routine, had no issue telling someone openly that they planned on surprising them. As much as Cecilia loved being back in her homeland, some outlander habits had rubbed off on her so thoroughly that she occasionally felt like an outlander just being there. She helped Delebria gather her things and hurry on her way, off to prepare some surprise that Cecilia promised herself to pretend surprised her.

Seeing that Unelia had already started getting dressed in the changing room above the kitchen, Cecilia followed her up and reached through the curtain and fished for the dark azure dress she'd chosen. There hadn't been time to have anything tailor made, so Aeolynn, owner of Astranaar's sole traditional Kaldorei clothing store, had suggested it for her. Ignoring her sister's protests, Cecilia pulled the dress out before Unelia had finished changing and changed right there on the other side of the curtain. She thought she'd done a fine job, but it apparently was not so, as she found upon seeing Unelia wearing a plain white gown the beauty of which mismatched her slight frown.

"Your dress isn't on straight!" she said, though her tone hadn't crossed the line of sounding rude. Unelia held the loose folds of fabric between her fingers gingerly as she made adjustments too subtle for Cecilia to really notice.

She held her arms out straight, marveling at the feel of authentic silk from Winterspring and smiling as she experienced more vague flashbacks of her former life before the Sundering. They were so fleeting and delicate that she savored them whenever they came. Most night elf women didn't dress this conservatively anymore, and the feel of Kaldorei handiwork on long sleeves and a nearly ankle-length dress brought her back.

Everything looked much larger, even Unelia. Cecilia was the tallest in the family, so she must have been young at the time. She was wearing a long sleeve dress and some woman she felt must be a friend of the family had brought her to the granary - their people still survived on whole grains back then rather than berries, nuts and tubers as they did from the Sundering until the Third War. Cecilia was holding something in her hands but it wasn't a basket. It was heavy and had tick marks on it. A clay tablet...papermaking hadn't been invented yet when she was a child. The tick marks reminded her of the mental scoreboard in her head and she smiled.

"It's lovely to dress like this again, isnt it?" Unelia asked in reaction to her sister's smile.

When she opened her eyes and shifted from past to present, Cecilia saw that whatever miniscule adjustments had been necessary were complete and there was a sincere look of affection in Unelia's eyes. It wasn't the first time during the trip, but it was much less frequent now than prior to their parting; even during the monotonous, indicernible days of the Long Vigil, Unelia had been the most caring in the family. Just over a decade after its end, however, and she seemed to have become more distant from Cecilia only.

It was only natural, the younger sister realized as she returned the mushy look to her older sister. Their lives were separate now and always would be. Cecilia, the former xenophobe, racist and supremacist who had embraced the emotionless, feral stupor of the Vigil and initially cursed Tyrande's husband for ending it, had left Kalimdor woefully unprepared, been used and abused by the world and simply stood up, dusted her knees off and tried again until she made her own place for herself. Unelia, the accepting, loving and religious universalist who had sought to forgive and understand both the humans and orcs for their transgressions, had remained in a radius of a day and a half of travel from their ancestral grove. She still hadn't even visited Teldrassil yet as she and Johan had been planning for so long. They were both happy - Cecilia was truly and wonderfully happy for the first time since the War of the Ancients and Unelia was even happier than she'd already been since time immemorial.

But they weren't together. And in the few decades or however long two ancient, ageing night elves like them had left in life, they never would be. And that, as much as the sight of Celonia withering away and dying in the midst of their basically dead ancestral grove, forced Cecilia to fight as hard as she could against the flow of tears right there in the middle of the house.

Unelia once again read her sister well and sensed the emotion welling inside. "You'll need to get used to wearing these again. Because every time you come to visit from now on, you're buying another one."

At that, the two sisters shared a hearty laugh and made their way to descend from the mezzanine changing room. As if to punctuate Unelia's point, Cecilia tried to take far too long a stride in the dress and nearly tumbled down the stairs.

"Ah!" she cried as Unelia pushed her against the wall at the last moment, allowing her to cling to the railing. "How do I walk!"

"It's easy: take baby steps and don't march," Unelia chortled as she helped the suddenly more awkward of the two to the bottom floor.

Cecilia began to actually walk out the door, only for Unelia to flip out. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"I'mmmmm...going outside?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you crazy, you just had your hair done! What if outlander males see you?" Unelia had already pulled a shawl from a drawer and wrapped it aound Cecilia's head, loosely enough so that it didn't alter her curls but tightly enough so that her hair, the back of her neck and most of her shoulders were covered.

Only her amusingly incredulous face was visible. "You've got to be kidding me...seriously? What year is this, negative eleven thousand?"

"Isu this is very serious!" Unelia protested, finding no humor in the head covering.

"You do realize that both of our husbands are outlanders anyway, right?"

"I meant unrelated strangers, you know that!" Unelia wrapped her own shawl and led the way out to the street.

Their husbands were already waiting outside, and as different as their appearances were, their bored expressions were exactly the same. Homecoming parties of this sort were usually women-only events, a relic of the Long Vigil when all but a few of the men slept and the sister sentinels returning from their patrols that could range anywhere from weeks to years would be met with raucous parties that broke many of the typical rules of propriety. They were expected, yet the guests of honor would always act surprised. And because such parties were a holdover from a time without men, the tradition as it had evolved since the loss of Nordrassil was not that there would be simultaneous parties for the women and the men. Rather, the women just took over the interior of the living quarters - atypical for a society both martial and matriarchal, though accepted for these events - and the men were kicked outside to mill about and guard the nightsabres. As sorry as Cecilia had felt for her husband and brother-in-law before (her uncle, niece and nephew were at the library and would go straight home from there to sleep after moonset), she couldn't deny that the excitement of seeing more friendly, non-judgmental night elves than just her one best friend had caused her sympathy to subside. Surely the men would be fine if left to their own machinations for a single day, right?

As soon as they turned, the difference in personalities was apparent. Ever the Kaldorei-phile, Johan greeted his wife shyly and blushed pink at the sight of her being dressed up for the occasion. It was rather cute in a quaint way.

Khujand, on the other hand, just switched between snickering at the one-hundred eighty degree shift in clothing style and hanging back so he could watch Cecilia's ass as she walked. Which she also found cute in a raunchier, more trollish way.

"So ya gonna wear a veil, too"? he whispered to her through the fabric of the shawl. "Maybe a burka like some of tha centaur ladies use?"

"It's nice to try new things," Cecilia retorted with a flip of the shawl's excess fabric in his face.

"I feel like I'm Tasar Bubla, centaur king of tha wastes. Nobadeh looks at meh wimmenz!" Khujand snickered with an actual caveman thump to his chest.

She tried to glare at him, though it didn't quite succeed due to her grin. "You wear a hood sometimes when it's raining."

"I'm just havin' fun wishya girl, it doesn't mean nothin'." He lifted her hand to kiss it, and she let it lie daintily and limp-wristed within his as the four walked, talked and laughed across town.

With the moon mostly set and the sun out, Cecilia, Unelia and even Johan had to shield their eyes from the light. The streets were filled mostly with humans, draenei, worgen and a few groggy and disgruntled dayshift sentinels along with one or two Kaldorei daywalkers. Astranaar, however, was still very much a night elf city and the whole island was much less active during the daytime. The absence of crickets or owls caused the air to feel unusually still, though by the time they found themselves standing in front of the first of three apartment blocks on the island, the noise from the second floor had already filled the air.

The architecture of the building looked Kaldorei, but apartment blocks had been unknown ever since they abandoned stone as a material in non-military structures after the Sundering. It was strange to Cecilia to see a flat-faced building with the curving arches on the roof typical of their buildings, trying to evoke both style and utility and failing at both. Realizing she was being negative again, she pushed out her thoughts of overpopulation and unemployment and turned to see the benches on the opposite side of the small street.

All up and down were half a dozen Kaldorei men wearing sunglasses and visors, all of them sitting on the benches and looking bored out of their minds as they watched lights flicker and heard women ululating from the second-story window. They were the husbands and boyfriends, apparently, and true to the segregated nature of a night elf homecoming party, they had not only been left with nothing to do other than protect the overcoats and outdoor shoes, but seemed too content to think of something for them to do on their own.

Unelia led Cecilia inside the main door of the building and removed her shawl, placing it in Johan's waiting hands outside the main door as if it were a token bestowed before a long march.

"Try not to do anything too crazy," Unelia told her husband with a smile, and to Cecilia's surprise neither of the two saw any irony in the situation.

With a tartish grin, Cecilia removed her shawl and wrapped it around Khujand's neck, much to her sister's consternation. He continued trying to watch her now I obscured rack as she ascended the stairs inside, stopping only once Johan literally pulled him toward the benches and out of sight.

Up the stairs, she almost stumbled again and her older sister had to shove her toward a hand railing again, lightening up after the flagrant lack of regard displayed by the entrance.

"I thought you're supposed to be retired from marching," Unelia quipped. She looked rather pleased with herself afterward as well.

"Look at you, trading barbs so easily, miss holy roller."

At that, Unelia arched her brow. "Are you making light of-"

"I've making light of the fact that you're easy to bother," Cecilia chortled as she held close to her sister one more time, thinking there was another step when the stairs had actually ended and almost falling again. "Why does it have to be ankle length!"

"Don't blame the dress, you just misstepped that time," Unelia jabbed with gusto.

"It's because I couldn't move freely enough-"

"Hey! You guys are more than half an hour late!"

Both sisters turned to see Niorith out of her patrol armor and in a gaudy green dress instead, tapping her foot with a slightly perturbed smirk on her face. Typically shy when off duty, the colorful getup was unlike her, and although it didn't match the black tattoos covering her joints and face in a sectionized pattern of lines, Cecilia still grinned to see the oddly introverted police officer dressed so boldly. Rather than a tarp as the night elves preferred, the doorway to her and Delebria's apartment had an actual door and it was hanging open. Weaving out from within was the sound of uncharacteristically loud laughing, the beating of tambourines and the smell of Kaldorei moon juice that epitomized the homecoming parties of old, and the gaffe on the stairs was quickly forgotten.

"Niorith, you...are also wearing a dress," Cecilia murmured with a goofy smile on her face.

Niorith blushed but tried to play it off rather than falling silent as Cecilia had expected her to. "Well, what did you think I'd wear? The Vigil is over, we aren't bound to be at the ready for war twenty-four-seven anymore," the Kaldorei cop replied. "Get in here, come!"

Niorith lifted her dress with one hand and began dragging Cecilia inside with the other, and Unelia took Cecilia by the other wrist as though they suspected the guest of honor would flee. Nothing could be further from the truth, however, and when Cecilia entered to find far more people than she had expected, she truly felt touched.

"Yalalalalalalalalalala!" war cried at least a dozen women all crammed into the one bedroom apartment that was too small to be referred to as modest.

Cecilia actually leaped back with a look of pleasant surprise on her face rather than feigned surprise. She'd been gone so long that she literally hadn't heard the war cry of night elf sentinels that also doubled as a greeting at these sort of events the whole time since she'd left home. She'd performed the war cry plenty of times - countless times - during the Vigil, but as with other aspects of her life, the decade since losing immortality affected her mind and soul more than the previous eon after gaining it and she had forgotten how _loud_ ululation was. Before she could even resist, she was bombarded by bows, hugs and even a kiss on her forehead from a neighbor they had never really known that well.

"Nice dress!" joked Aeolynn. She looked haggard and was wearing her work clothes, as though she had literally just closed shop five minutes before arriving.

"And I love the curls!" Ralo'shan said as she reached out and gave one of them a bounce. Seeing the former Eternal Watcher at a party serving alcohol - light, but still alcohol - was one of the biggest thrills of the night.

"Come on, I'm going to blush," Cecilia laughed congenially as she tried to accept the compliments. Scanning the room, she felt a sudden warmth within as she realized that even with her new circle of close friends in Ratchet, she could still have access to many of the familiar faces of her old life if they'd be willing to gather like this every time she visited in the future.

Luara and Thenysil both were there, not as dressed up as the others but trying the best two actively serving officers likely knew how. They were frantic as they tried to organize the copious amounts of food waiting in leafy containers on every flat surface of the apartment, and even with only a dozen people, the lack of seating - even the cushions on the floor had been taken - left the two officers with no option but to stand once they had finished.

"So if you two are here, who's commanding the sentries?" Cecilia asked as the two officers made one of their younger off-duty recruits surrender her seat on the couch for the main guest.

"It's dayshift, let the noobs earn their keep out in the sun," Thenysil replied with a wave of her hand.

As they laughed, the rest of the partygoers hushed as Delebria entered from the bedroom, tambourine in hand as all eyes fell on her. Before she had even realized what was happening, Cecilia found herself from sitting on the couch to being pulled into a standing position again, and a flute had already been shoved into her hands. Everyone cheered as they moved her into an empty space on the floor next to Delebria, and she was again in too much shock and awe to resist.

"What? Wait, what is this?"

Delebria shook the tambourine in response. "Come on, you know that sentinels can't be properly welcomed back from a long march without the return song!"

Balking visibly, Cecilia actually felt out of her element for the first time since arriving. She tried to search for a lifeline, only to find Thenysil grinning at her as if taking revenge and Niorith looking away like her shy old self to avoid being dragged to the front as well. "I haven't picked up an instrument in a few centuries!" she protested.

Her hostess was unrepentant. "There's no form of bonding like shared public humiliation; don't you remember what we used to do to the hundred-year-old trainees at the lodges? Come on, let's play!" Delebria already began shaking the tambourine lightly in a relatively quiet rhythm, and Aeolynn fished out a lute that had been left behind one of the food trays, much to everyone's delight. Pressure mixed with a relaxed feeling as Cecilia reminded herself that nobody expected her to play amazingly, and she let herself laugh a little to lighten up.

Just to punctuate the loose atmosphere, Cecilia turned and literally bumped into the last person she'd expect to be playing music and dancing. Unelia, her strict older sister, had a string instrument at the ready, smiling sheepishly but with her ears pricked up in anticipation. In front of all the crowded partygoers - three more crammed themselves into the apartment just then - the two sisters spoke as though they were alone.

"I never would have expected you to be okay with this," Cecilia giggled like a teenager as Delebria already started beating the tambourine more loudly to the slow tune of the anthem developed for their people several millennia ago.

"Sometimes, there can be exceptions to the rules," Unelia replied just as Cecilia raised the flute to her lips. The rest of the guests began rocking, with some of them even murmuring different lyrics developed uniquely by each grove during the millennia, none of them matching and many of them out of key, but all of them radiating joy as they basked in a relic of their culture so treasured that even the younger among them would ensure that it never slipped away.

* * *

The half dozen night elf males sitting on the benches out side all shifted between shading their eyes from the sun to watch the silhouettes behind the curtain of the apartment on the second floor and trying to force boring conversations to pass the time. Not to be outdone, the jungle troll and the human seated among them made small talk as well, though feigning interest wasn't necessary.

"Most of my closer family members were already dead by the time I was in school," Johan explained in response to all the questions about his upbringing. "I was raised by distant relatives, so I guess that caused me to turn inward and connect with books more than people."

"So it's not like ya grew up in an orphanage or anythin', then."

"No, our village didn't have one of those anyway. Most everybody had extended family, so if and when your parents were gone, you know, you just moved over to another relative's household."

"Yeah, I can imagine what that's like. Some kids like that get caught up in things worse than books, though."

"Maybe in cities, but this was a village in the mountains. There weren't any breweries and the local jail only saw people locked up once a year, usually for fighting over inheritance. Most of us who were distant or had a lot of free time just had the chapel or the library, both of which were run by this fellow that was also the village teacher."

Khujand had already heard Unelia and Johan's how-we-met story from both his wife multiple times over the past year and his sister-in-law at the dinner table the other night, but the story of how the blone-haired human had ended up deciding to remain in Ashenvale in the first place was better heard from him directly. The two husbands hadn't had much time to talk man-to-man, but once they tried, they found that they had much more in common than they'd thought. Khujand's family was originally non-tribal with no nobility or honorable genealogy to speak of, like Johan's ignoble descent. With a distinct accent not far from that of the Frostmane tribe of ice trolls in Dun Morogh - despite being absolutely pure jungle trolls - Khujand's people were distinct only due to their different way of speaking and nothing else. They had not been a part of the Gurubashi Empire but had paid tribute, and eventually joined the Darkspear tribe not as blood relatives at first but as refugees seeking protection on the Darkspear Isle. Humans were no longer tribal but did have a concept of noble households, and Johan's family was about as far from one of those as one could get. They both had left the Eastern Kingdoms around the time of the Third War - Johan after enlisting and Khujand, again, as a refugee from the sinking island of his people - and they had both remained in the northern half of Kalimdor. The fact that they were born in the exact same year only a few months apart made their marriage to two sisters seem all the more curiously coincidental.

Unlike the other men, the two of them were far from bored, and any racial barriers that may have existed were blown to smithereens as the two realized how much they really had in common.

"And that's how ya learned about tha so-called 'dark elves,' right?"

"Yes, our village librarian, teacher and preacher was quarter-elf and taught me some Thalassian. Despite the denial of both night elves and blood elves, the reality is that their two languages are more like two dialects. When I first met Kaldorei just before Hyjal, I found that I could understand much of what they were saying already." Johan stroked his goatee-beard absentmindedly in the same exact way Khujand often did as he pondered the meaning of life or something like it, the non-grumpy troll thought. "I honestly suspect that the differences among the races are exaggerated so much."

"I get that same feelin' too, man." Khujand was about to stroke his beard as well, but refrained once he realized what he was doing. "I honestly never think about seeyin' my own homeland, though. Dya ever feel like, with all tha history, ya prefer ya wife's culture ta ya own?"

"If, if I didn't feel that way, I wouldn't have stayed," Johan laughed heartily. "I would honestly prefer my children remain closer to their mother's roots than mine."

"Well, I think they're gonna hafta. With half night elf genes, they're gonna live a long time. Ya and me could marry tha sisters cause we found them at a time when they're at tha end of their long lives. They're from tha generation from before tha Sundering, ya know? But otherwise, people like our kids livin' for centuries, people from ya race and mine livin' less than one century..."

"It wouldn't work out. We're actually both lucky to have been born just at the right time, around when the Long Vigil ended," Johan said wistfully as he stared off, obviously thinking of Unelia. "Sometimes I can't believe it worked out this way, for us to be together."

"I know it!" Khujand said with a bit of wistfulness of his own.

Noticing that the night elf men had quieted down and looked bored out of their minds, Khujand leaned over to Nantar, a member of the family of bakers from down the road.

"Hey, Nantar, right?"

The baker's ears pricked up at the sound of his name. "Yes, Khujand, right? From the other day?"

"Yeah man, it's me...listen, we gotta suggest somethin', me and Johan here."

The other men began peering over at the exchange, seemingly happy for anything to focus on other than overcoats, shawls and street shoes. "What is the nature of this suggestion?" Nantar asked with sudden interest.

"I bumped inta this gnome with a pointy hat tha other day. He almost ran under my foot but accused me of tryin' ta stomp him. He said some rubbish about me bein' a spy and I tried ta tell him that tha Alliance-Horde war finished, and tha guy didn't even know about tha Siege of Orgrimmar a few years back."

"I know that guy," the druid Faldreas who occasionally worked with the sentinels on town security piped up. "He lives under a rock. As in, literally, he lives in this burrow on the edge of town that he covers with a rock when he's busy."

"That explains a lot of things!" Johan burst out to the laughter of all the waiting menfolk.

"So what is the suggestion, exactly?" Nantar asked with a sly grin, as though he already knew what it was.

"Well, I was thinkin' of playin' a prank. Nothin' too cruel or spiteful. Just enough ta let him know ta look where he walks."

"You guys might want to be careful about that," Faldreas cautioned. "That gnome is extremely cantankerous. Sometimes he even throws pebbles at people."

"Sounds like he needs ta cool off," Khujand replied with a devious smirk.

Several of the other husbands and boyfriends were leaning in, finding the brutish, not-entirely-welcome visitor more acceptable than before. One of them in particular had stopped using a public fountain three days ago when he saw Khujand drinking from it as well, but had such a change of heart that he had now actually risen from his seat to kneel next to the troll broadcasting an aura of voodoo everywhere just to listen in on the plan better.

"That gnome once slapped my pet deer for grazing near his burrow," the previously wary local said. "Honestly, I feel like somebody _should_ teach that little rabble rouser a lesson. My poor deer is afraid to eat unless I'm standing right next to her now."

Nantar had already figured out the plan. "We keep some chilled water back at the bakery for dough-mixing purposes. I don't think my wife would notice if one of the buckets emptied out over the day."

"But what about the ladies' belongings?" Faldreas asked innocently.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Faldreas," Johan answered. Khujand had actually feared his conservative brother-in-law wouldn't have been up for dousing an unsuspecting little person with ice water, but his unexpected enthusiasm inspired all seven of the others.

"Astranaar is safe. Besides, why do we always have to sit around listening to the women singing and dancing for these parties?" Nantar said with a hint of righteousness in his voice. "When will we stand up to the matriarchy and demand equal rights?" Everyone - the troll included - snickered at the rhetorical question, though the baker really seemed to mean it.

Geldor Rainsong, the ancient Druid of the Talon, displayed no misgivings about the group's rather mean plot. "I'll shift to storm crow form and be on the lookout."

"I'll go get my bucket!" Nantar said as he hurried off.

"I'll watch everyone's stuff," huffed Faldreas.

"Your loss," Johan remarked with a tone of disappointment as everyone else made their way to the edge of town.

Khujand slouched just a little more as they walked, proud that his plan for some daytime mischief had endeared him just a little more to the local night elves. Perhaps that day wouldn't be so boring after all.

* * *

They had been dancing and eating for hours by the time Cecilia and Unelia descended the staircase, their toes and ankles sore with each step. The other guests had ensured that neither sister had been able to sit for too long, one various wellwisher or another always pulling them back up again and at one point they ended up in a conga line that lasted for twenty minutes. Even the goodbyes had been long, as many of the women were so busy that they likely wouldn't see Cecilia again before she left; in a world such as Azeroth, where flying was done on the backs of great beasts and communication was via pieces of paper carried in sacks, the thought of not seeing a friend again for months at a time was daunting. Niorith and Delebria had held out for as long as they could, making no moves to usher anybody outside. Once the final group of revelers had left, however, the hosting couple collapsed onto the floor cushions in the sitting room of their apartment audibly and could be heard snoring all the way in the stairwell within seconds.

A small group of women who had stayed until the very end - it had to be almost ten in the freaking morning by then - surrounded the two sisters as they exited the building, chattering the whole way despite the drowsiness overtaking them all.

While their belongings were waiting for them undisturbed, the same could not be said for the husband-boyfriend amalgamation.

"What in the name of Elune happened?!" Unelia exclaimed at all the males in general.

Disheveled but relaxed, the eight men all looked like they'd spent the past five hours wrecking the entire town. They were all sweaty, red-eyed and covered in soot and underbrush to varying degrees, and they all looked exhausted. Johan and Faldreas were both splattered in blue paint and Geldor had tinsel wrapped around his antlers. Khujand and one of the other husbands both smelled of glue and another random boyfriend was passed out underneath one of the benches. Nantar looked fine for the most part, and his shirt and shoes were unblemished aside from sweat. The fact that his pants were missing canceled that out, however, as did the mystery of how he had lost his pants without removing his shoes.

"What...happened?" Ralo'shan asked, stupefied as she tried to unwrap the tinsel from her husband's antlers and only ended up making things even worse.

"By the great winds, we were called," he answered while exchanging giddy, secretive grins with the other males. His floral-pattern beach shirt was mostly unbuttoned, and although Geldor was one of the only fourteen-thousand year-olds on Azeroth with abs, he ended up looking more like he'd slept in a ditch than a suave man who had simply aged well.

Faldreas' girlfriend, also a druid apparently, rushed forward to tend a lump on his head. "But how...? You guys look like you encountered a group of infernals!"

"We were assaulted by a very cantankerous gnome," Faldreas replied, his mana far too spent to heal the lump on his own.

"Yeah, tha plan was a huge mistake actually," Khujand mumbled as Cecilia clasped her hands over her mouth both from the odor of glue and to prevent herself from cackling maniacally at their situation. "My bad. I didn't realize that little guy was so...cantankerous. There's no other way ta describe him."

"I don't think I'm comfortable buying that gnome's carpets anymore," Johan sighed and laughed at the same time. "I never trusted that pointy hat of his anyway."

Without much left to say, everyone said their final awkward goodbyes and parted, though Aeolynn had to spend some time dragging her unconscious husband out from under the bench. Nantar's wife, ever the jealous night elf woman, forewent her shawl and used it as a makeshift kilt for her husband.

Splitting off from Unelia and Johan so Khujand could wash the glue smell out of his mane at a public water pump, the Shadow Hunter and retired old-school Huntress had a few minutes alone before they returned to the house.

"So...I guess you guys had fun after all?" Cecilia asked with a hand still covering her smirk.

Khujand dunked his entire head in Nantar's bucket after filling it, which he did after realizing he had somehow ended up with the baker's property in the first place. "Ya could say that. And I guess ya had fun too?"

"Oh, it was wonderful," Cecilia cooed. "I didn't even mind wearing a dress. Honey, we have to visit home more often."

"If ya want it, we'll make it happen, I can promise ya that."

As he rinsed his mane out, Cecilia yawned and tried to force herself awake long enough to share her decision with him. "I'm going to initiate 'the talk' with Unelia first thing tomorrow morning."

Her husband actually froze for a moment before continuing to wash. "I guess it had ta happen eventually," he sighed. "Ya sure this is gonna end well?"

Cecilia twirled her fingers in the gradually straightening curls of her dark azure locks, mulling it over. Of all people, Khujand knew her hangups over her sister and her reasons for feeling guilty despite not regretting her departure or her new life. There was no need to put up a front around him. "Honestly, I'm not so sure. She's going to be mad. She has a right to be mad. But I just want to get things over with."

Khujand ringed out the excess water into the grass near the pump as he listened for more. Once he was sure she had finished, he stood and took the bucket as they walked back to the house.

"I understand perfectly. Tha big party is past and now we just gotta few days ta relax before goin' back home. There's no reason ta delay it any longer."

Despite the water dripping down his arms, Cecilia clung to her husband's elbow and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. "I don't know what to say once she gets started, even after thinking about it so many times."

"Stop. Don't think; just feel. A very bright lady told me that, once."

"Mmmmm," she hummed. "Sounds like she knows what she's talking about."

They stared into each others eyes as they walked inside the tarp, smiling with a mixture of calm and apprehension which didn't make sense to either of them. The entire house was silent, and they didn't even bother putting on pajamas over their underwear once Khujand had dried his hair. This time, sleep came quickly. Cecilia knew she would need it in preparation for the discussion she had feared having even across letters, much less face-to-face.


	30. Are We Old?

Cecilia watched the green swirls emanate from little Elindir's hands, flickering for only a few seconds but glowing vibrantly considering his tender age. Standing on big Elindir's thighs for balance, the boy looked at his own palms and then to those of his great uncle as he tried to imitate the natural magic they both seemed imbued with.

It was fascinating to watch. For all her years, Cecilia had no knowledge of druidic magic. Her uncle had been sleeping for most of her life, and while there was a period between the regrouping of the survivors of the Sundering around the base of Mount Hyjal and departure of the menfolk to the Dream, she had been too busy with the rebuilding of society and the slow, natural establishment of Serenity to learn much about the field. Though to be honest, Cecilia had no aptitude for magic anyway; even though many Huntresses could summon a spectral owl companion from the spirits of nature to assist with patrol duties, Cecilia had simply never been able.

She sipped more of the apple cider they'd bought after waking up late that evening, doing her best to focus on the bouncing child practicing some sort of disease detection spell with the ancient wise man. It had worked for a while, though once her glass was nearly drained, the thoughts of what she had to do that night crept back in.

 _How had it all come to this_? she wondered. Cecilia's memories of their life before the War of the Ancients - when they weren't yet immortal but their lives were extended unnaturally by the Well of Eternity - remained within her mind somewhat. She could remember being born in Suramar when it was but a town, not the city it later grew in to. Unelia was roughly a thousand years older, already beyond the normal life expectancy for elves by the time Cecilia had been born. It was the Well that allowed them to continue living longer than they should have, but she didn't remember anybody caring or questioning it. The life of the Kaldorei was one of material excess and sensory overload, lounging around their stone cities and allowing their arcane enchantments to perform much of the manual labor. Everyone was educated, content and soft. Even if she could not recall the specific day-to-day activities (even short-lived outlanders like Khujand and Johan couldn't remember their childhoods entirely), she knew the generality of how she spent those two millennia before the Sundering. She'd heard humans and orcs speak of the feeling that they'd wasted their youth upon reaching old age; Cecilia had already felt that way by the time the first demons of the Burning Legion arrived. She could paint and play music, and she remembered sitting at poetry readings though she couldn't remember if she'd ever written. Like most of their kind, even their parents, her life had been based mostly on entertainment. It was the same sort of lethargy Johan complained of in the nobility of his own race.

Through it all, Unelia had always been there, wasting time with her, the two of them strolling down cobblestone roads as they watched the construction of the great boon of their people known as aqueducts. Their technology such as public baths and sliced bread made them the envy of the other races they looked down upon with such scorn, and they both took everything for granted as the Highborne who invented many of those luxuries left the rest of society to revel while they led everyone to their doom. When Cecilia had sung in public for the first time as a child, Unelia had been there in the first row at what her mind remembered as a small, open air public forum, clapping first so everyone else would follow suit. The first time one of the boring, uptight, typically self-absorbed suitors who had asked for Cecilia's hand betrayed her trust, it was Unelia who had giddily helped her plan the ruination of the man's reputation. All the lonely nights when her friends were away with family or work, during her brief pilgrimages to the temples of Hajiri, in those spring seasons when there was nobody else to run through the freshly regrown meadows with...it had always been Unelia.

And even with the shock of the War of the Ancients, she couldn't recall everything, and all other night elves her age had many of the same problems. The event itself would never be lost in memory, but the missing details left holes. She could remember them cowering together in the basement as demons dragged their neighbors into the streets of Suramar. Her parents hadn't been home initially; it was only her and Unelia, clinging to each other silently as their entire bodies quaked with terror.

She could remember the pain in her ear canal followed by temporary deafness as the planet was ripped apart by the collapse of the First Well of Eternity. Most of the world's population died as Azeroth was purged, the total number of Kaldorei dropping from ten million to - she was sure she remembered properly - a hundred thousand and some change. And as the ground swallowed most of Suramar whole, it was Unelia who pulled tall but awkward and graceless Cecilia from the edge of a sidewalk that had opened until it became a deep canyon.

She could remember the absolute terror as the refugees of their town scrambled from the tsunami that followed, all of them with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever items they had been carrying that day. It was already wartime and resources were scarce during the efforts against the Burning Legion, but it was Unelia that had always snatched extra rations to give Cecilia to carry just in case.

She could remember the utter hopelessness as they spent a few days on the waves of a brand new ocean in rickety canoes, trusting in Lady Maiev Shadowsong's command but fearing they would never locate the rest of their people. It was Unelia who had first spotted the sails of a salvaged passenger ship off in the distance, docked at the rocky north shores of Moonglade that would lead them to regroup with the rest of their people at the base of Mount Hyjal.

She could remember the misery of waiting on High Priestess Tyrande as their leader communed with the other notables of their people, a sea of battered, starving, diseased night elves with no homes, no direction and most of them with no families. The wails of the bereaved, the shattered and the orphaned filled the air to the point where even their parents seemed lost until Unelia roused everyone's spirits with her indominable faith.

And she could remember the eon that they lived in perpetual darkness, assigned to defend their small patch of the forest in a grove of twenty five people without ever knowing for sure when it would end, if they would end, if they would live. And even past the halfway point of the Long Vigil when Cecilia and most of the others had become nearly mindless, performing the same duties day in and day out like ants, it was her memories of Unelia that punctuated the centuries that were indistinguishable from miliseconds. Her smile as she watched the moon rise and set every night as though it would be the last time, her attempts to break through Cecilia's stupor and interact meaningfully...those were the memory markers.

And she could remember the Battle of Mount Hyjal, and the sudden shock and even physical pain all the night elves experienced at the moment they made the ultimate sacrifice and ultimate escape. The devastation of Nordrassil sent a shockwave that the other races couldn't detect but which brought the Kaldorei to their knees, the sensations of mortal life flowing through them at lightning speed. It was Unelia who had helped her regain her footing and looked into her eyes - a truly loving, relieved look in the middle of the battlefield as both sisters felt consciousness returning to them fully. They were truly awake, and even with their parents gone, they were truly together.

Two sisters, two lives shared, for twelve thousand years. Despite being older, Unelia hadn't known such a short periods of time without Cecilia by her side. All the joy, all the pain, throughout almost the entire history of their people spent with each other.

And ten years ago, Cecilia ran away.

It shouldn't be as significant, yet it was. The two periods of time were equal to them both. After all the loving support without conditions for so long, Cecilia had chosen to leave the family, writing a letter only a single time before cutting off entirely for the most significant years of their lives, years that saw social change even more significant than the switch from urban patriarchy to hunter-gatherer matriarchy: the onset of death via old age.

Unelia had mourned her. Cecilia never asked but she knew her sister must have. What else could they have thought? For sure the flight mistress had told them the shellshocked younger sister had flown to Theramore, but beyond that? What else could they have assumed? Before her own bout with drug addiction, Cecilia had met another night elf female with a fake, non-elven name ("Anna" they called her) and dim, faded eyes. She obviously wasn't the only one who had fallen for the tricks and traps of the outside world; for sure they had mourned her and believed her to be dead or even worse.

Yet when Irien first wrote to Johan once the trifecta had arrived at their home in Ratchet, he gushed briefly about how thankful the family was that Cecilia had turned out alright - he even mentioned Unelia that time. There was no scolding or negativity at all. But there was no mention of Unelia wanting to write directly to Cecilia, either. Cecilia knew her sister well; that was a very bad sign.

Slurping the last of her apple cider, Cecilia set the glass down and stared at the wall, knowing that her uncle could no longer see to note the despondent look on her face nor could her nephew comprehend such emotions yet. What little nerve she had left steeled, Cecilia rose from the chair slowly and pushed her way through the tarp leading to the access ramp leading upstairs. From the edge, she could just barely make out the figures of Khujand and Johan as they took Corrianna to the shooting range to practice her bow skills. Although Cecilia had originally planned the distraction along with her husband, her brother-in-law quickly understood the purpose of the activity and convinced Unelia to remain at home. Everything was in place. Everything had been carefully planned. All the major events for their vacation to her homeland had taken place - even Ralo'shan and Geldor had flown out of town that early evening, once they slept off the residual effects of the homecoming party.

So why, then, were Cecilia's feet dragging so slowly as she ascended the ramp?

One foot in front of the other, she pushed onward. She had to. There was no reason for such apprehension. From the very first night, Unelia had held Cecilia close, consoling her as she welcomed her home and told her nothing else mattered. Those were Unelia's words: nothing else mattered as long as she was there. Despite her occasional passive aggressive jabs, Unelia had shown nothing but extreme kindness and had even gone to great lengths to make their stay extra enjoyable. There was no logical reason for her to feel this nervous.

But that was exactly it: the feeling wasn't logical; it was emotional. What was Cecilia going to say? She had mulled it over so many nights, lying on the cushions and linens of the sitting area as her husband tried in vain to help her think of possible retorts to accusations she didn't even believe would come. What was the source of her guilt? Unelia was proud that Cecilia had survived in such a harsh outside world full of so much dishonesty and avarice. Unelia was happy to have a brother-in-law who, like her own husband, had learned Darnassian and (she inaccurately assumed) was a convert to the faith of Elune. Unelia was delighted that their family had extended contacts elsewhere in Kalimdor, with a large support group of friends who would potentially assist during tough times waiting in a neutral port with access to a wide array of networks (Unelia might be prudish and conservative, but she wasn't closed off from the world). Unelia even seemed to accept, at least outwardly, that the two sisters had forged separate lives for themselves since moving on from Serenity: one in Astranaar and one in Ratchet.

No, this was mostly Cecilia. She was forcing herself through the guilt trip, she thought as she passed the second floor and made her way up to the third. She loved her life now and would never regret having left, and she knew that the pain she caused her family was unavoidable. After the horror imprinted into her mind at Warsong, there was no way Cecilia could have stayed in that old life, rotting away on the inside. She had to leave, and her family would be hurt no matter what. For whatever reason, that is what fate had in store for them: a necessary hurt in order for Cecilia to grow as a person. She had gone from a pampered, indulgent waste of space at Suramar to a mindless drone at Serenity to a useless lump at Astranaar for all but a few weeks. After a few years of her own personal hell, she'd settled in to her new life as a vibrant, truly happy person and productive member of the community in the central Barrens. She was still in Kalimdor, the home continent of her people, and she'd tried to find ways to make up for all the pain she'd caused during her time with Silverwing, donating half her salary to whatever charities or outstretched hands she could find in the port. It wasn't commensurate with the murder of civilians she'd committed, but it was certainly better than continuing to live her life as though nothing had happened.

She'd been obligated to leave. There was no way around it.

So how to tell her sister that, she thought as she stood at the open doorway to the third floor - a single open bedroom and private chamber with the latrine out back on the balcony. How would Cecilia say to the person who had always been there, supporting her every step of the way for twelve thousand years, that hurting her had been necessary in order to grow?

It was too late for borrowing her husband's habit of overanalyzing; this was the time. Unelia sat on a pile of cushions at the foot of her low bed on the third floor, flipping through a picture catalog of fabrics which Aeolynn could order from abroad. She seemed rather engrossed in it, though obviously she had heard Cecilia coming. That she continued thumbing through the pages was more unnerving despite there being no reason for it to feel that way.

Her heart racing, Cecilia pulled a Ralo'shan and continuously tried to tuck her hair behind her ears even when it was already there. She thought of lowering herself to sit on a cushion, but given her heart rate at that moment she feared it would simply cause her to feel dizzy. Lowering her head, she noticed that Unelia was flipping through the pages just a little too rapidly as the older sister refused to look up.

She was also dreading this. Cecilia could feel it.

"Uni," Cecilia said so softly it came out as a whisper.

With trembling hands, Unelia spent an eternity closing the catalog. The pages made no sound as they folded together, and she pretended to examine the cover before sliding it under her bed. And then, she just sat.

"Uni...will you stand up with me?"

Clearing her throat so roughly that she choked on spittle, Unelia nodded her head and gripped the bedpost to stand. Unlike Cecilia, Unelia seemed to lack any hangups about ageing and had no shyness when accepting the younger sister's hand as she righted herself. Her leg injuries were not severe but her impaired gait clashed with her still youthful appearance. Much like the descriptions of the High Priestess, Unelia had a few stress lines in her face, though she was otherwise unblemished. Seeing how their people aged was fascinating. Like all elves, their faces remained young looking compared to humans or orcs but their bodies were still internally breaking down all the same. The changes weren't as dramatic in the night elves, but Cecilia certainly felt them more strongly than members of other races likely did.

The two sisters stood facing each other but not exactly looking at each other. Their husbands would be with the girl at the shooting range for an hour and a half at least; their uncle never grew tired of the boy who shared both his name and his jovial nature. There was nothing preventing either of them; it was time.

Unelia had a strand of hair that actually was hanging across her face rather than simply having been imagined there. Her unsteady hand smoothed the silver streak back against the rest of her dark indigo locks. Simultaneously, Cecilia felt a combination of relief and judgment of her own self. That her sister was also obviously apprehensive about the talk - much of her intentionally ominous behavior in writing and once they'd arrived must have been a front - helped Cecilia to relax and lay her mental scoreboard aside for the time being. That she took solace in her sister's discomfort, however, felt very wrong. After spending so many weeks in fear of the deserved anger she'd expected from her sister, she was now faced with hesitant silence. It wasn't fair.

"Uni, tell me, please. I came all this way, after all this time. I'm here. It's me. Even with a new name, new tattoos, new hair color, a new life, it's still me."

Meeting her eyes finally, Unelia held her face steady. She wasn't as stoic as Cecilia had been and had cried a few more times in life, but she seemed very contained standing there in the third floor of the treehouse.

As they looked into each others' eyes, the need for words disappeared. They'd spent a literal eternity supporting each other all the way. They'd memorized each others' habits and could predict each others' behavior better than they would ever be able to do even with their own children. Over the thousands of years spent at Serenity, the two of them had gone through every motion, held every conversation, discussed every topic and observed every nuance, mood swing and reaction possible for either of them. They may as well have been twins.

With a wavering voice that contrasted with her expressionless face, Unelia spoke. "I just want to ask one question..."

Her voice was quiet as well, not strained though somehow taxed. Cecilia could hear that her sister's breathing was heavy, and she was obviously trying to calm herself down before opening her mouth again.

The anticipation weighed heavy on Cecilia's shoulders. Had Unelia truly waited all that time to ask only a single question? Either there had to be something more to the whole conversation, or it was going to be one hell of a question. A relationship like theirs could never be so simple. Cecilia had cut off from the one who had been the most important person in her life since forever. Unelia had done everything for her, everything possible in order to make her feel comfortable after returning from her stint with Silverwing afflicted with a rather obvious case of post-traumatic stress disorder. There was no reason for that time to have been different from the other numerous times when Cecilia had nobody to turn to save her older sister. She ran to Unelia so many times before; and yet, after what was perhaps the most significant change in their lives, she ran away instead. Unelia must be offended. She must be angry. She must be ready to burst.

And yet, as she stood there in a silent attempt to regain control of herself, Unelia's eyes only spoke of hurt.

"Please, ask me!" Cecilia pleaded, feeling as though she was drowning in the suspense.

"Why didn't you tell us you were okay?"

Unelia's lip quivered at the end of the question. She quickly pursed both lips and blinked hard to force the storm within her back to the depths of her soul, but the true extent of the pain had already revealed itself.

"Uni, I...I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you contact us?" Unelia rasped. Clamping onto her own vocal chords was likely painful but also gave her stronger control over her voice despite her impending meltdown.

"I don't know! I swear, if I had an answer then I'd give it to you, you know that," Cecilia pleaded again, desperate to avoid a breakdown of her own only a few sentences into their talk.

"You couldn't write more than a single time in the beginning? Not even on an envelope without a return address?"

"Uni, please believe me, I wasn't in a healthy state of mind beyond my first few weeks after I'd left. My condition didn't allow for-"

"And after you got clean?" Unelia interrupted, referencing the period after which Cecilia had kicked her drug habit.

"I...what was I supposed to say, Uni! Hi, it's me, I murdered innocent civilians, ran away expecting to die of old age without the World Tree, disgraced and ruined my own self and I work for an amoral, heartless goblin trade cartel breaking up drunken brawls and decapitating pirates for a living?" Her tone wasn't even remotely defensive anymore, but the fact that Cecilia was begging, practically groveling to be understood was clear.

"So you let us believe you died?"

"No, Uni, I didn't!"

"I read the last rites for you."

A flash of dizziness shot through every square inch of Cecilia's body. She wavered and this time it was shorter, less abled Unelia who had to keep the taller, still athletic sister stable.

"Wh-what?" Cecilia stammered.

"I read the last rites for you." Unelia kept a straight face this time, refusing to elaborate as though it weren't the huge, earthshatteringly massive deal it was in their culture. "I lit the candle under your name in the temple...and I blew it out."

"Uni...please, please, I'm sorry!" Cecilia cried, bending down and clasping her sister's hands with her own. "It's still me - I wouldn't lie about this! I swear by the moon and all that is holy, that isn't what I had wanted to put you through!"

"Not even one letter?" Unelia asked without even attempting to mask the waver in her voice. "What did you expect me to think?"

Cecilia stood dumbstruck, unable to formulate a cogent answer to the question. "I don't know-"

"Would you have thought any different?" Unelia asked pointedly.

"Yes! No! I don't know!"

"Did you ever think about it? Did you ever stop to wonder what I must have thought happened to you, Isu?"

"I couldn't think about that, please try to understand! I know I don't deserve to ask for your understanding but I have nothing else!" Cecilia gripped the edge of Unelia's dresser in order to help balance herself. "If I consciously thought of how I'd left you, I would have died inside - it was too painful because I knew how bad it was!"

"So you forgot about us?" Unelia tilted her head to the side, appearing to quite literally think the answer might be affirmative.

"Never, never ever, not even for one day, and that's why I felt too ashamed to reach out! What could I have done? I was a war criminal and a failure as one at that; I'd been caught, ruining my legacy as a heroine both in my own mind and in the eyes of my peers. I was fallen, just completely useless to our society; I had to start a new life somewhere else, and how could I ever face you again knowing what I'd become?"

"You're here with us now," Unelia retorted as her eyes flickered with dizziness. "You've had no problem coming here when _I'm_ the on to reach out, when _I'm_ the one to demand that the bond not be broken."

"Because I felt I didn't have the right! Because I felt you were better off not knowing how far I had drifted from our roots! Because!" Cecilia's voice hitched, and although she retained control of her expression and tone, she knew the pain was evident. "Because I felt you were better off thinking I had died!"

Although her voice didn't echo enough for it to reach all the way past the second floor and to the first, it had been loud enough to shock them both into silence. Once the shock of the volume had passed, the shock at what she'd allowed to slip set in. It was a horrible and cumbersome silence, and Cecilia felt her hand tremors return to her temporarily as she waited for something, anything, to interrupt.

Unelia stepped forward, and when she took Cecilia's hands in hers, the younger sister realized that at some point they'd moved apart. Cecilia resisted weakly at first, feeling undeserving of the soothing contact. Despite being a foot shorter and much lighter, Unelia persisted and wrapped her arms around the younger sister's neck, pulling her into a forced hug.

"I'm sorry," Cecilia gasped as she finally hugged back. "I'm sorry, it was wrong."

"You're wrong that I was better off thinking you to be dead. I am...am...you did me wrong."

"I'm sorry!"

"You did me wrong by thinking I wouldn't want to hear from you. Isu...I don't blame you for leaving."

"You're just saying that," Cecilia groaned almost painfully.

"No, Isu, I don't just 'say' things. I was devastated when you left. I truly was. And then I was angry for a long, long time. Eventually, I mourned you - ah!"

Unelia groaned herself as her much larger sister slumped over. The thought of the closest person to her in her life mourning her was too much for Cecilia to bear, and she really did begin to lose her balance. Hefting the retired but still formidable warrior of the night's weight to the bed, Unelia sat down beside her and panted at the exertion for a moment.

"I mourned you, Isu. I assumed you were dead and anybody else would have. But I don't blame you for leaving."

"Why?" Cecilia asked as she clung to her sister's house gown for comfort. "I blame myself, so what about you...what I did was inexcus-"

"You're excused, now shush and listen," Unelia commanded firmly. " I went through the full cycle of loss. But I never, ever wished for you to be lost forever. I knew that if you were still alive or even if you had perished, you were likely involved in some very bad things. We aren't wise, Isu, and you know that; our isolation made our people naïve. So many of our people were taken advantage of when we first joined the Alliance because we weren't ready for a world filled with so much hate. I knew what sort of life you probably lived and that didn't change how I felt."

Cecilia shook her head, but Unelia grasped the back of her head and continued. "I know how much our people changed. You changed after Hyjal; that's life. I knew you couldn't stay from the first day you came here after Silverwing. I didn't expect you to run away, but I knew you would no longer be who you once were. That wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was not knowing where you were."

"Uni...I'm sorry. I wish I had let you know I survived, but I didn't know how. I couldn't even think about it. I didn't even know where to begin," Cecilia sniffled without actually crying, wiping her nose with a tissue from the nightstand.

Releasing a long, drawn-out sigh, Unelia slid her hand around Cecilia's shoulder. "You've explained yourself. It's over. I'm still a little mad; I don't know if all of it will ever go away. But I understand. I don't like how you cut off entirely, but I understand why. Maybe that's the best we could expect." Leaning away for a moment, Unelia tilted the younger sister's chin to forcibly meet her eyes again. "And you came back. You chose to reach out through your friend, and you came when I asked. You could have just blended into the outside world entirely as some of our people have done. But you chose to come."

"Of course I did. I may have been too much of a coward to reach out first, but once you did I would never have said no," Cecilia confessed, taking note of her sister affirming the sentence and not rushing to claim Cecilia wasn't a coward.

"Now that you've come back," Unelia said as she rose from the bed without explanation, "we aren't letting you slip away again. I respect your life choice, and your new path, though had you settled further away than the Barrens then I may not have. But you're close enough to home. You will come and visit regularly."

"Yes, commander," Cecilia agreed with a smirk as she rubbed her stinging eyes.

Without question, she followed Unelia out of the bedroom and to the balcony. Though Astranaar was full of other three-story buildings - regulations of the island city did not allow anything higher - they still had a magnificent view. Peering north, they could see the streets below busy with night traffic and the glow of wisps encircling the tall trees beyond the island. The stars shone in the clear sky above, unobscured due to the lack of tall trees in Astranaar.

Unelia sat down with her legs dangling off the balcony and Cecilia followed suit, enjoying the afterglow of having weathered the talk she'd been dreading without tears. The whole conversation had been far easier than she'd expected, and like Khujand, she suspected that perhaps much of her interlocutor's jabs and passive aggressive pokes were only in her head. In fact, sitting next to her older sister on the balcony was...surprisingly comfortable.

The setting didn't bring her any memories of their ten millennia of duty in little Serenity; Astranaar was one of the largest elven cities on Azeroth after Darnassus. It didn't quite remind Cecilia of Suramar either, as that was a stone highborne city; Astranaar was truly in balance with nature, with a few exceptions from the post-Third War buildings. No, this was something new, yet still undeniably them.

Cecilia took a deep breath of fresh air. It wasn't her home, but it was her family's home; she would always visit. To think of how negative she'd felt just a few minutes ago; sitting there on that balcony in pleasant silence, letting the night slip away on vacation without caring and marveling at the mended sisterly bond almost caused her to feel dizzy again. But in a good way, this time.

Everything felt so open between them now. The lingering tension had prevented Cecilia from gushing the way she wished she could have with the one person who had been with her since the beginning. There should be no issue now.

She turned to Unelia, shifting the topic to something different yet still relevant to them both. "Are we old, Uni?"

The elder sister continued watching the people go about their business on the street below, but Cecilia could tell she was considering the question in her head. Deep within Unelia's mind, gears were turning and Cecilia's pulse jumped as she finally seemed to be receiving an answer. In anticipation of some incredibly profound answer, she leaned forward, only to be sorely disappointed.

"Yep. We're old."

Cecilia crooked her head back in surprise. "What? Really?" she asked, visibly bothered by the terse answer lacking any amazing insight at all.

"Really," Unelia answered with an almost-smile. "We're a pair of old cougars."

"Hey, don't call me that - I am not a cougar!"

"We are _so_ cougar. Our husbands are each only one five hundredth of our age," Unelia said with an actual-smile that gave off a sense of candor that clashed with her usual conservatism.

Defeated but only begrudgingly so, Cecilia tried to blow a strand of hair out of her face three times before giving up. She had to pretend to look at a three-wheeled cart leaking watermelon juice onto the street as a sentinel berated the cart pullers below in order to conceal her discontent, and her older sister took the opportunity to be the one asking questions.

"Do you ever feel like we did something wrong by not marrying night elf men?" Unelia asked as she watched the sheepish team of gnomish cart pullers as well.

"Are you being serious?" Cecilia asked incredulously. "You are literally the -first- night elf woman ever, like, period, to marry outside of the race. You should be an entry in a book of records somewhere, why would you ask this after being the one who broke the barrier?"

Unelia considered the question for a moment before choosing her words carefully. "Our population is low. Every other race outnumbers us by quite a bit. I know there are less men of our kind to go around and no night elf woman can accept sharing, but why us? Both of us, you know? The Swiftfoot name has existed for so long, but it won't be continued as a Kaldorei bloodline, it will be carried as a mixed bloodline."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Uni."

"Hello, person who broke the barrier here?" Unelia asked while pointing to herself sarcastically. She was never this good-humored and Cecilia found it refreshing. "What I'm saying is, irrespective of ethical debates, are we hurting the race's survival?"

"You shouldn't be the one to consider this, you've been married to a human for the most influential ten years of our lives."

"Isu just answer my question!"

"Alright. Look, we all make choices. We both chose individuals rather than races. We're free to do so. And considering the gender imbalance, there is simply going to be a certain percent of us that marries outside the race. And what with all the night elf men running off with these human and blood elf midgets..."

The two shared a laugh at the biting, if somewhat ethnocentric, comment as they leaned against each other.

Cecilia felt warm as the two of them spent more time just watching the people go by, enjoying the freedom they now enjoyed with their service to nature completed. They were both happy, with their lives and with each other again. And as they reveled in the ability to choose their own paths, Cecilia not only sensed a return of the bond that tied them but even felt it grow stronger than it ever had been before. They'd struggled, they'd fought and they'd been separated, and at that moment she realized they'd both ended up right where they wanted to be.

* * *

Khujand and Johan were already trying to clean up the war zone of a mess they'd made in the kitchen by the time the two sisters had descended. The aroma of some decently cooked rabbit and sweet potatoes with a draenic curry sauce filled the entire ground floor, and uncle Elindir had actually taken the kids out back to eat their food outside.

Cecilia and Unelia both seated themselves at the sitting area, waiting to be served with exaggerated tartish looks on their faces as their husbands sat down with the rest of the food. In spite of the wretched state of the kitchen, Cecilia had to admit that her brother-in-law was a better cook than she had remembered.

The conversation was light over the meal. The two sisters occasionally glanced at each other and laughed, basking in the comfort that had spread across the entire house once they had made amends. The men appeared to feel it as well, and there was none of the tension that had hung over dinner before.

The atmosphere was so comfortable, in fact, that Khujand broached a subject that would normally be unbroachable precisely because they all felt so obliviously at ease.

"So seeyin' as how ya got that only livin' parent among tha four of us," he started in between eating entire sweet potatoes whole, "about when can I expect ta meet this father-in-law of mine?"

Choking on her food, Cecilia's eyes almost watered before she coughed it up and swallowed it back down again. Unelia froze like a statue as Johan shrank as though he were trying to become invisible. After such a great night, this was NOT what Cecilia had wanted to think about.


	31. Release Me

Isurith rolled over in bed, burying her face in her pillow to avoid any rays of light that may have been wafting in from the outside. Although she couldn't quite tell what time it was, she knew it was still too early to be awake. She'd have to be out of bed and on patrol in a few hours. In her half-slumber, she could still remember that Unelia and their aunt were on a patrol rotation that would keep them away for another few…months, was it? Years? It was all the same, though even realizing that was the most conscious thought she'd had in a long time.

The grove was understaffed due to two more locals having accompanied them on the rotation, and there was no possibility of taking time off duty to rest. Isurith needed to find a way to drift off again. Perhaps by counting the number of days; that often worked.

She never would count toward anything in particular; there were too many days to count anyway. She would just count. That was it. Isurith was so ancient, and her life so long and monotonous, that even trying to comprehend its extent often caused her to put herself to sleep. Every day was exactly the same; putting a number to the innumerable days was one of the few passtimes she still retained that granted her some semblance of consciousness. Lying motionless, Isurith could feel her muscles slowly relax as she sank into the bed. At least one consolation of her sister being away in rotation was that she got the entire bed to herself.

Just as Isurith felt herself slip back into a deep sleep, the sound of a faint sob snapped her back awake.

"Obstinate…immature…"

The voice sounded like her mother's. But something was different; something was off. Keeping her eyes shut, Isurith listened more closely to the voice vaguely resembling Issinia's.

"Just…listen…"

The barely audible whimpering accompanied the dragging sound of a pen on paper. Both were rare commodities given the hunter-gatherer lifestyle of the barely sedentary night elves in groves like theirs, and they would only be used for the most significant of communications or recording tasks. If information wasn't being transmitted orally, it was either critical or secret.

"Told you…so many times…" the voice whimpered angrily in the day.

Finally opening her eyes slightly, Isurith saw that the tarp had been nailed to the doorframe and every inch of uncovered space that could potentially allow outside light to filter through had been covered. The den of their hovel was comfortably dark, and given the lack of space, Isurith could tell that her mother's back was only a few feet from the edge of herbed. There was no way to stir without Issinia noticing. Deciding that stealth was useless and unnecessary, Isurith simply sat up on the edge of the bed, making no effort to conceal the sound of her shifting.

"Mother?" Isurith asked as Issinia scribbled even faster, rushing to finish whatever she had been working on.

In a flash, Issinia completed her sentence and wiped the excess ink onto the top of her hand before putting her pen away. She didn't turn to face her daughter - a very big deal in their culture - and remained on the detached tree stump they used as a stool, hunched over the table.

"Go to bed, Isurith," Issinia ordered. Her voice lacked its usual firmness and Isurith could tell something was wrong.

"Mother, are you hurt?" she asked hesitantly, wary of appearing disrespectful.

Issinia remained motionless on the stool with her fingers laced over the back of her neck and her ears drooping low. For what seemed like minutes she continued to sit in that position, neither speaking nor moving.

When Isurith reached forward to place a soothing hand on her mother's shoulder, she could feel the tension immediately. She tried rubbing the back of her mother's shoulder, ever the dutiful daughter, but to no avail.

"Mother, what has happened? What's wrong?" Isurith asked again.

"Nothing has happened, daughter," Issinia replied without her usual flat, monotone voice.

There was some sort of feeling there, an emotion. Emotions had become so unfamiliar by then. The satyr had been put down and the highborne had been exiled; the furbolg had learned to live alongside not only the night elves but also their own tribes; the tauren had long since been made peace with; the centaur had been driven back into the wastelands, where said tauren allies kept them in check. The children of the stars were in the midst of a long peace - how long was difficult to guage given the distortion of time experienced across the indistinguishable years, but it had certainly been a few thousand. All was well.

Except Isurith's mother.

She finally leaned forward, peering over her mother's shoulder at the surface of the table. There was a letter, obviously what Issinia had been writing.

"Mother, what is wrong?"

Issinia refused to face her, only allowing her shoulders to raise and lower as she sat with her head down. With a cautious hand, Isurith reached for the letter. Her mother made no attempt to prevent her, and she took the sheet of paper once she realized a silent approval had been given.

As she read, she realized that the letter was addressed to a barrow den not far from the fabled Astranaar, one of the few Kaldorei villages that had grown enough to diversify its labor beyond sentinels rotating shared duties and had become a true town. Her father was supposed to have…been near there...the memory was somewhere in the back of her mind. Conscious thought had largely become irrelevant with the passing of so much time.

"This is the location of father's assignment while tending to the balance," Isurith thought out loud. Once she realized she had spoken, she looked to Issinia but found no reaction. "Mother, is father asleep with the others? Is he awake?" She blinked as lucidity and free will returned to her temporarily, as they occasionally did when the monotony was broken. "Is this letter to father directly?"

No answer. Issinia continued to sit, unmoving and unresponsive in a way which made Isurith feel - yes, she felt something again - uncomfortable.

"Mother, can…may I read this?" she asked, correcting her speech at the last minute.

No answer.

Isurith turned the letter over in her hands, seeing that there was only writing on a single side. The handwriting was neat and very legible, but as soon as she started reading, she could tell that Issinia's language wasn't as formal as usual.

 _My love,_

 _I have received the reply you sent through one of our sisters returning from rotation. I believe it has been a year or a few since it was sent. An equal span of time will likely pass by the time you receive this letter; I pray that the Goddess wills you to receive it in a timely fashion._

 _It is most unfortunate that you refuse to revise your position. As I have explained to you so many times, and as I have sworn on all that is holy, your obsession with passing the druidic trials is NOT what I or the rest of the family desires. No matter how often you claim that you're doing this for us, I will never cease to remind you of what I said the first time all those millennia ago._

 _My ache is for you to be here with us, with me; not chasing after achievements unnecessary for the duty nature has entrusted us with. You possess eyes as silver as mine; that has never caused the pride I feel when thinking of you to decrease by even an atom's weight. There are plenty of men traversing your path; the sisters have informed me that the barrow den is overstaffed and many of your brother guards even visit Astranaar occasionally. They have also informed me that you never leave the den, even when temporarily relieved of duty, and merely brood in your room during all of your vacations._

 _I do not want a druid, or a den guard, or anything profession. I want my husband, here with me, here with our children, no matter what path in life he follows. You are capable of visiting if only for a few months at a time. THAT is what I want, not verbal messages passed on of you thinking of us and working hard to 'make us proud.'_

 _You have not visited one time since the Satyr War. That is all I ask; for you to come home, and for just one time to see your face, hear your voice, to feel you once more. If you are not willing to do this for me, then please, I beg you, stop with these pithy, two-sentence verbal messages you send every few decades. If I cannot have you with me even temporarily, then the pain of separation is too much to bear. We are both well and stable materially; if you will not take care of me emotionally, then keep to yourself. I wish not to hear from you again unless it is news of your impending first visit to your family and to your wife._

 _Goddess light your path. Please come home._

 _Your Lifemate_

Isurith didn't need to read the letter a second time to understand the gravity of it, but she certainly needed clarification. The whole thing…it just didn't add up. Her father had left to undertake his druidic trials and was assigned to the barrow den near Astranaar, but wouldn't he be a true druid by now? What was the meaning of the letter?

"Mother, where is father?" Isurith asked as she laid the letter back down on the table. She put both hands on her mother, and while she would normally fear being reprimanded for such a flagrant lack of regard, in this case she could no longer restrain herself. "Please, tell me what this is about."

"You read the letter," Issinia replied. "That is sufficient."

Isurith knelt next to her mother. She was tall enough such that she could still nearly look Issinia in the eye this way and tried to pull her mother closer. "We are family; we always stick together. I have a right to know."

With a look of mild irritation in her eyes, Issinia tilted her head to look at her daughter, but Isurith held firm. Even were she to receive punishment at home - no matter how ancient they were, their people still had strict and tight-knit family units - Isurith needed to know. The letter didn't make any sense.

"There is nothing more to know," Issinia said, fresh tears of anger streaming down her cheeks.

"Father left with the rest of the men to study druidism with Malfurion Stormrage after the heretics were exiled," Isurith stated with a sound of puzzlement in her voice. "His trials would have been passed thousands of years ago."

"You are correct, as your father might say were he here," Issinia retorted. Her voice was almost spiteful as she finished her sentence.

"So if he passed his trials, why are you talking about them now-"

"Your father isn't a druid!" Issinia retorted sharply.

From her kneeling spot on the floor of their hovel, Isurith could see the firmness return in her mother's eyes and voice. It only served to confuse her even more. "What do you mean?"

"He failed the druidic trials every time he tried," Issinia explained as she winced and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Isurith felt her heart sink at the revelation. It seemed impossible; her father had fought valiantly alongside the rest of the family during the Satyr War as he hadn't yet had time to complete his training. After that, he had been assigned to the barrow den and was supposed to finish up there before joining the rest of the druids in their prestigious duties within the Emerald Dream; not milling about with the ten percent or so of their race's men who had failed the trials and were relegated to guard duty.

"Mother…does Unelia know?"

"Nobody knows except Priestess Lamynia, Captain Ironwood and myself," Issinia answered as her body went limp.

"Oh…this is…I'm so sorry mother, this is just terrible. Father can still try, he-"

"It's _not_ terrible, and I don't want him to try," Issinia growled. "I don't care whether he's a druid or a guard or anything."

"We all serve nature in whichever way we can," Isurith conceded, though not truly believing the words coming out of her mouth. Nine out of ten men were druids; the minority who weren't guarded the rest, as the sentinels couldn't do so due to their society's gender segregation rules. Barrow den guards performed a necessary, indispensable duty but received far less respect than the majority of the menfolk.

"And we all take leave on a rotational basis during our service," Issinia retorted with that firmness in her voice again. Isurith was already shaken at her mother's previously growl and now began to seriously fear she'd incurred the woman's wrath. "The other guards at that same den take their leave in Astranaar. He can take his here."

"Perhaps he feels that he can't face you until he achieves his goal," Isurith murmured, still in shock that she'd been misled about her father's career for so long.

"His goal should be pleasing his wife." Issinia's tone was even firmer than before, though she didn't actually appear angry. "And he knows, and has known for millennia, that what pleases me is feeling his warmth again. His career path matters not as long as he devotes himself to whatever he does faithfully."

"But what of your final comment - I mean, if I may inquire, mother, what reaction to you expect from your ultimatum?" Isurith's tone belied her sense of wariness as she asked, burning desire to understand clashing with respect for her mother's decisions within her.

No answer. Both mother and daughter sat for a long time, the silence creating a new form of tension.

"Go to sleep, daughter," Issinia ordered with an unnerving calm in her voice.

Without another word, Issinia stood up and returned to the bed she normally shared with Isurith's aunt; doing as she was told, Isurith returned to the bed she normally shared with her sister. Try as she might, Isurith had difficulty falling back asleep and it felt as though it took hours. Just before she finally drifted off, she could have sworn she heard someone crying.

* * *

Plants sprouted from the ground on both sides of uncle Elindir as he walked, an unintentional side effect of his prowess as a restoration druid. Roses were the most aberrant creation; they often sprouted and bloomed from nothing when his fingertips drew too near to raised chunks of earth beside the walkway or when they strode too near to an earthen wall. Despite being entirely blind and never having slept in the specific barrow den they were approaching, he required no assistance on the half-day's hike there. He'd visited it twice to visit his brother-in-law before, and led the way without issue.

Unelia had opted to remain home and watch the children with Delebria that day. Johan came along, offering to accompany Cecilia and Khujand on the trek to visit her father but making it clear that he'd wait outside the main area of the den with Elindir. Last night, dinner had been quite pleasant until Khujand's unwitting question though he could hardly be blamed. Though Cecilia shared much more about her past than he did over the previous year and a half, her father was one topic she had withheld. He never pursued it, ever so worried about pushing her too hard to speak, and thus had no way of knowing when he casually brought up the subject the other night.

True to her mother's ultimatum, their father never contacted them again. His embarrassment at having failed as a druid time and time again led to his seclusion in that single room of his at the barrow den - Elindir always desribed the quarters of the guards as being single rather than communal like those of the druids due to the nightly change in shifts, and for utilitarian reasons those single rooms were grown behind thick, soundproof walls. Her father neither replied to her mother's letter, nor ever came to visit, nor ever left the grounds of the den even when granted leaves of absence. When Issinia had been martyred during the War of the Shifting Sands, Maya and Vadia - the two who delivered the news - said that he merely thanked them after a long pause and returned to his room before his shift ended. During the Third War, he was one of the few necessary guards who remained at the dens in the absence of the druids fighting in the war itself; when Elindir contacted an old colleague who had been sleeping at that nameless den regarding his brother-in-law, he was told that the man socialized briefly with the others in the mornings before clocking out and then kept to himself as he always had done.

Cecilia understood why her sister remained at home and why her uncle and her own brother-in-law opted to wait outside of the den grounds. Having been separated from the family for the entire second half of the Long Vigil, her father had most assuredly undergone significant change despite his seclusion. She had spent the first two thousand years of her life with him, true, but after the Sundering the menfolk left to spend several thousand more training in anticipation of the coming sleep the archdruid had prophesized. Comparatively speaking, her time with her father had been short and it was so long ago that not all of it was clear in her mind. There was no way to tell what his condition would be, especially considering the fact that he had already passed into old age by the time immortality began; a few night elves who were younger than him had recently died of natural causes.

Cecilia shook the thoughts out of her head, trying to focus. When she felt her husband wrap his arm around her shoulder, she realized her movement had been just a little too obvious.

"Zengu," Khujand whispered as they trotted a few yards behind Elindir and Johan, who themselves were chatting quietly.

Stealing a look around their surroundings, Cecilia realized they were fairly deep into the forest. The winding path ascended as the ground elevated, and stepping stones had been carefully raised from the earth by the natural magics of her people, marking the path to the den. Several other travelers passed in the opposite direction. An older druid led the group which included three druidesses in training and, much to her relief, a tauren female wearing the same trainee's garb. They all nodded politely to the night elf with her jungle troll, and Cecilia felt a little more relaxed. Not that the presence of one as respected as uncle Elindir wasn't enough to protect them from harassment, but the increasing presence of tauren and trolls visiting the traditional dens within Kaldorei territory was comforting. Perhaps future trips would be simpler-

"Well?" Khujand asked as he squeezed her a little closer to him.

"Oh...Tiondel. His name is Tiondel."

Khujand smiled and hummed within his throat. "Maybe that could be one of tha baby names, too," he said. "We could call him Del for short."

"Issa and Shari, Del and Zengu," Cecilia sang in a low voice, attempting to cheer herself up as the steps ahead led up to the open area in front of the den.

It was much like others Cecilia had witnessed during her rotations so long ago. A giant tree sprouted up from the ground with a naturally grown entryway; countless rooms lined the hollow depths below for sure. Above ground, there was a huntress lodge for the many women on rotation and a series of small hovels for the guards. Although the division between women and men had become less distinct since the end of the Third War, practical considerations of a society in shock had to be taken into account. Due to widespread unemployment and the lack of business skills among the Kaldorei when compared to humans and gnomes, non-druid men often demanded they retain their traditional jobs guarding the den rather than open up the position to triple the applicants by allowing women or risking competition and failure by pursuing urban jobs like Nantar and his bakery. Likewise, many night elf women were intimidated by the energetic work ethic of the younger races who were driven by their impatience and short lifespans. Though the army now accepted men on the front lines, the lodges marking waystations for their people were exclusively the domain of women. Even with women druids and men priests, the security workers protecting the dens clung to age-old traditions considered outdated by many in the cities.

Two older druids loitering out front recognized Elindir and waved him down, unaware that he couldn't see.

"I think we may have some catching up to do," Johan said to the entire group. "It may be prudent for uncle and I to wait out front."

"Yes...perhaps that would be for the best," Cecilia answered, eyeing the women at the lodge suspiciously as they looked her husband over.

Johan led Elindir to meet some old friends of his, the human feeling just as comfortable around the barrow den as any night elf off the street. Most likely for security purposes, one of the guards approached Cecilia and Khujand though his sword remained sheathed.

"Greetings. Are you here to visit one of the residents?" the man asked.

"That is correct, brother," she said to the silver eyed guard. "Tiondel Swiftfoot. Is he available?"

"Y-yes, he is. Brother Swiftfoot is always available. If you don't mind my asking, are you friends or relatives?"

"I'm a relative. A direct blood relative." Cecilia pursed her lips before continuing, doing her best to avoid overthinking the situation. "Is he alright?"

The guard appeared to be mulling the situation over in his head as well. "He is consistent," the man said, apparently at a loss for words. "Diligent in his duties and an indispensable part of the den. He is usually found patrolling the area behind the den, in the event that any hostiles attempt an infiltration," the man explained as he pointed to a small beaten trail between the trees.

"Thank you, brother," Cecilia said congenially as the man returned to a picnic table with a handful of sentinels and another guard.

She walked side by side with her husband, keeping her distance given the august nature of the dens. These were considered places of communion with nature similar to the temples and shrines, and strict codes governed interaction between the genders to prevent any possible distractions or slacking off on duties on the part of both parties.

As they passed the guards' hovels and traversed the beaten path, the pair walked in silence. For her part, Cecilia simply had no idea what to say and was grateful that Khujand picked up on that. So much of her family's lives had been spent away from her father, and the number of potential questions left her head spinning. The sounds of the den died down as they followed the worn dirt trail over exposed roots criss crossing and ignored the sprite darters watching them as they walked. Cecilia could hear someone slowly pacing in circles ahead, and before she knew it she could have sworn she'd seen the outline of a man walking in a circle.

She held out her arm across Khujand's chest to stop him. Combing her mind for a plan - by the night, she couldn't even talk to her father without a strategy - Cecilia formulated the least shocking introduction she could think of.

"Dear, face toward the clearing sideways and turn your head away," she commanded.

"Huh? Alright, but why?" he asked in confusion.

"All father knows of trolls are the wars with the Twin Empires and the few tribes in Kalimdor which our people stereotyped horribly," Cecilia explained in more detail. "And sit down on that rock, your ears and complexion can pass for elven as long as you don't look too big."

"Isn't he gonna notice tha flamin' mohawk?" Khujand asked while pointing to his mane.

"Well, he...oh...listen, just sit down and face to the side, I'm trying to create the least shocking first impression!"

"Alright girl, don't worry," he chuckled while following her directions. "We're gonna try our best. This is ya daddy, not some stranger."

Cecilia nodded in affirmation as she bounced on her toes, trying to physically shake out her anxiety. However her father reacted, it couldn't be so bad, could it?

Leaving her husband on the rock, Cecilia entered the little clearing with a single tree in the middle. The beaten path wound around it in a circle and appeared to be quite old, as though her father had been patrolling the back area for some time. It was heartening to see; even if he felt ashamed for his profession, he obviously fulfilled his duties to the best of his ability and she determined that she wouldn't let him forget that.

She could hear his footsteps coming around the bend, and nearly bumped into a wash basin with kitchenware lying on a foldup table. Apparently, her father took the job so seriously that he ate his meals out there. Simultaneously, a swell of pride in his work mixed with her apprehension over seeing him for the first time since the world had been ripped asunder.

"Who goes there?" asked a familiar though aged voice. He stopped walking and she could only see part of his berobed figure.

Cecilia's heart jumped into her throat. She could feel her pulse all the way down into her fingertips. A mauve hand, the same hand that she could almost feel lifting her into the air and spinning her around at the Suramar covered market, rested on the pommel of a sword. Realizing that an on-duty guard might see a stranger as a threat at first, Cecilia fought the urge to crash straight in to him as though she were still a little girl and forced words out of her throat instead.

"Father?" she asked, not knowing what else to say. "Father, is that you?" She very well knew it was him, but was so stupefied by the flood of memories washing over her that she didn't know what else to say.

Two silver eyes came into view as he walked, and the flood became a tsunami. Some things had changed. His beard was well-kept but much longer than she remembered, almost as long as uncle Elindir's. Aside from the silver streaks in his indigo hair, he didn't appear to have aged at all, aside from the blank stare he was giving her. Had it really been that long?

She cleared her throat. "Father, it's me!"

One of Tiondel's ears twitched, and he cocked is head to the side as though he were trying to remember. Cecilia had changed considerably. Her hair was an entirely different color. With the more revealing clothes she wore in night elf lands, many of her battle scars were visible - scars Tiondel hadn't been around to see once she joined the army. Her eyes had lost most of their glow, though they had since regained their happiness over the past few years. She had her facial tattoos and some on her left leg the last time he'd seen her, but now she was covered in them - only her chest, left thigh and the left side of her torso were art-free. Her face was the same, but given the lack of genetic diversity both her husband and brother-in-law had noted, facial recognition was lower for night elves and voice, body language and (for women) tattoos were more distinct marks of individuality. All three were different for Cecilia now - her voice modified by several years of past alcohol and drug abuse, her body language evoking a confidence she'd lacked as a civilian back before the Sundering and even her facial tattoos having been altered while she served in the crew of one of the goblin ships. Her name change was only the icing on the entirely different cake that was her.

"It's Isurith!" Cecilia exclaimed, using the birth name that served as the only name her family members would willingly accept.

Tiondel's eyes widened. "Isurith? Ooohhh...it's been quite a long time, hasn't it?" he sighed with a stunning lack of emotion typical of those who had been awake during the Long Vigil, female or male.

When he didn't move to hug her, Cecilia bowed instead, making sure to bow lower than he did out of respect. "It has, father. I've been...ah, traveling, but I came a long way to finally see you again."

"Yes, I can see that life has taken you many places," he said without laughing though with an added warmth to his voice. "It seems you have a new style to your appearance."

"Of course. Life brings changes, as they say," Cecilia quoted nobody in particular as actually saying, drawing an absolute mental blank now that her father was actually there in front of her.

Walking toward the wash basin without even a light touch on the shoulder or a quick look to inspect her tattoos, her father lifted one of his dinner plates and rinsed it off, using soap and his bare hand as he spoke.

"So, how are things at the grove?" he asked casually, as though it hadn't truly been a few thousand years since they last saw each other.

Cecilia folded her arms in front of her, disappointed at the courteous but relatively cold reception. _Perhaps it's just been so long that he doesn't know how to open up_ , she thought.

"Well, many of us have been posted at other areas. There are many immigrants, what with the Alliance and all."

"What alliance do you speak of, my daughter?" Tiondel asked.

Then it hit her: if her father really was so isolated, he may not have known that the Kaldorei had joined another faction. Many of their people - Cecilia included - saw little difference between the Alliance and the Horde and opposed their pact with Stormwind just as much as they would have opposed a potential pact with Orgrimmar. If he had so little contact with the outside world, a treaty signed with a human king a mere ten years ago might still be relatively recent news to someone as old as her father.

"You know, with some of the outlanders that aided us when fighting the Legion," Cecilia replied as she tried to hide her grin at her father's quaint life, tucked away from the current events of the world.

She watched as he washed his two drinking cups so carefully, as though his utensils were more interesting than what was happening in the world of politics. As hopeless as some might find him, she felt a warmth from it that melted away the cold of his demeanor. In a time of such shocking changes for her people, her father's life appeared to be a bastion of traditionalism, much like Vadia's.

"You mean the tauren, to the south?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, no, the other outlanders...well, it isn't so important I guess." Cecilia daydreamed briefly, thinking out loud her wishes. "Hopefully we'll be done with them soon enough. We're better off independent anyway."

"That we are, that we are." Tiondel began rinsing off his reusable chopsticks as they conversed awkwardly, then looked up to see the big blue man with a red Mohawk behind them. "It seems you've become acquainted with one of these outlanders...anything I should be concerned about?"

Cecilia blushed as she realized, after all these millennia, her father was suddenly behaving in a rather protective manner at the thought of her consorting with a man he didn't know. "Oh, this is Khujand, father. He's been asking about you - in fact, we made haste to see you today at his insistence."

Tiondel examined the large man carefully. "Is he some sort of an emissary for the Gurubashi?"

"Wh...no, he's not directly descended from them, I believe," she laughed. "He speaks our language, by the way."

Rinsing off his plate, Tiondel snorted the tiniest of laughs through his nose. "I believe they're true, by the way. The rumors about there being some sort of relation between our people and theirs. Have the hostilities ended? With their people, I mean?"

"Mostly, but not quite. You know, the leader of the Horde is one of them now. Hostilities have really died down since both factions worked together on Draenor...well, I guess you may not have heard about that."

"No, to be honest. One of the enjoyable things out here is the tranquility, away from all the conflict," he said as he washed his two drinking cups.

"Right. Well, things are fairly quiet in the world at this point," Cecilia said, unable to conceal her smile at her father's peaceful, slow-paced life.

All seemed well. Things should have been fine. But when Tiondel looked up and spoke again, he inadvertently broke that smile. No damage could be permanent - Cecilia had already been through so much - but it hurt nonetheless.

"So I hear your mother might visit home soon," he said nonchalantly while rinsing off his dinner plate. "Southwind Village will be receiving a contingent along with Staghelm's son any day now, so she supposedly will take a quick visit in a week or so."

A knife stuck into Cecilia's back and for a split second, she couldn't breathe. When she could again, she felt a literal, physical pain in her heart every time she exhaled, and the muscles where her jaw met her skull grew tense.

"Wh-wh..." Her mouth couldn't form the words, and she laid a hand on a low-hanging tree branch for balance.

"The war against the qiraji is going well, they say. There's even talk among some here that the dragonflights will dive in for a final assault against the actual city of Ahn'Qiraj if need be."

As during other times of crises, Cecilia's hand tremors returned temporarily. It was completely psychological as all neurological damage had since healed, but it increased her sense of panic regardless. She could already sense Khujand's heavy footsteps behind her, yet her father didn't seem to take issue with the supposed Gurubashi approaching them. Tiondel finished rinsing the chopsticks as well, and then picked up his dinner plate again.

"It really would be nice to see Issinia again...you know, she wrote me a letter once? I wish I could have written back, but what with all the nightly rotation schedules and patrolling back here, it's been hard," Tiondel rambled on in a low tone.

Searing heat that should have felt pleasant burnt into her shoulder as her husband began to pull her away. Cecilia felt herself being moved away from her father and the wash basin as Khujand leaned down close.

"I'm sorry, this was my fault Cici," he whispered in Orcish in an equally low tone.

She began shaking her head, tilting her head to look up at Khujand for a moment. "He can hear you! Even if he doesn't know the language, he can hear you!" she snapped back in Orcish too.

Her husband just stared down at her, an expression of pain almost as deep as hers as well as guilt written all over his face. He tried to wrap both arms around her to pull her back, but she was too fast and pushed away. When she turned back to her father, she realized what she'd been doing to herself.

Tiondel was washing the same exact dinner plate again, using the same portion of dirty water in the wash basin. His hands were wrinkled from the effort and his bare feet were calloused and cracked from pacing around his trail, which wasn't a 'patrol path' so much as it was beaten dirt ringing a tree where the grass had died from his constant walking. The whole area wasn't more than nine feet in diameter, just slightly wider than her husband was tall. Tiondel's robes weren't those of a barrow den guard but rather a drab, faded grey tunic of a medical patient obviously borrowed from one of the temples, and there was no sword on his belt.

He was still rambling about her mother, speaking of plans to surprise her with a visit at some point in the near future if his patrol duties would only let up. His movement was jerky even though she hadn't noticed before, and his faded, barely glowing eyes, even more faded than hers, didn't appear to be focusing on his wash basin.

"Go! Go!" she cried to Khujand, clinging to his arms as the strength to run left her.

Khujand assumed she had more sense of balance than she really did, and failed to support her weight enough as they moved to leave. She stumbled, and he had to spend a moment helping her correct her balance when one of her sandals twisted off her foot. Tiondel finally noticed, and stared at them blankly.

"Who goes there?" he asked with a flat tone as his hand hovered over the pommel of an imaginary sword.

When neither of them answered, Tiondel abruptly turned and walked away, shuffling slowly around his tree as he hunched over from some sort of obvious back problem.

Cradling her head like a child, Khujand led Cecilia away, stopping at a tree stump naturally grown in the shape of a chair just out of view of both Tiondel and the people milling about in front of the den itself. She could feel her heart racing as she struggled to breathe normally, and her husband knelt down in front of her and fanned air in her face with a large leaf.

"I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know," she panted in between uneven breaths.

"I'm so sorry."

"Not even Unelia knew it was this bad...why didn't that guy warn us?" she said again, waving her hands afterward in a signal that she didn't want to speak yet.

The two of them sat there for a long, long time before finding Elindir and Johan again. For the entire half-day walk back home, they remained silent aside from the occasional greeting to other travelers. When they arrived back at Astranaar, Johan ran ahead and ushered the children off to bed early. Cecilia would have to thank him in the morning; once they arrived, in that early morning, all she could do was collapse on the sitting area she and Khujand shared, burying her face in a pillow tightly as she willed herself to believe the entire night had never taken place.


	32. You Have A Home

Cecilia sat on the second story balcony of Unelia's house, watching uncle Elindir walk the children to the Astranaar public library, where he delivered weekly history classes for the local young people. Sipping on her camomile tea that Khujand had brought from the teahouse across from Kamylia's inn, she flipped the pamphlet in her hands.

Very soon, Johan would return from a two-day hunting trip with some of the local night elf men and Khujand would be expected to join the rest of them at a restaurant as the meat was prepared and served to both family friends and the unemployed hanging around the area. Cecilia would be all alone when Unelia arrived to change, and would be expected to join her sister for religious services at the temple - yet another hurdle which she'd been dreading since Unelia brought the topic up.

' _Do you know the Goddess_?' read the cover of the pamphlet. It was almost patronizing. Cecilia's lack of religiosity, she felt, was based on research and interaction with outlanders following other faiths. To her sister, however, worship services were the solution to all life's problems. If someone couldn't see that, then they must simply be misinformed, or at least Unelia seemed to think that.

As she felt the vibrations of her husband's footsteps ascending the ramp, Cecilia worked to relax herself. They had ended up extending their trip by nearly a week after the unfortunate attempt at reaching out to her father. She had successfully pushed the incident out of her head for the most part, but she neither wanted to leave on that note nor did the family want that to be her last memory of the trip. Without thinking further, Unelia merely insisted they remain for 'a few more days' which had mostly been spent playing with the children and spending hours on end chatting with old friends at the tea house or restaurants. The extended stay had been unplanned, and slowly the Swiftfoot residence returned to normal.

Johan had arranged the hunting trip with his friends before Cecilia and Khujand had even arrived, assuming they wouldn't stay that long. Initially he insisted he would cancel it, but relented when Cecilia felt as though she were burdening them. The local youth were expecting Elindir the first's classes to start again promptly, and the temple was always in need of the more ancient, experienced members of the Sisterhood like Unelia. The elder sister had made it more than clear that their home was open regardless of work schedules and even if there weren't any big events planned, but the emptiness of the house when everyone was out at night reminded Cecilia that she still had her own life back at Ratchet to attend to.

Irien was less accomodating than the blood relatives. Cleaning the duplex all by herself had gotten to her and true to her goblin-like, penny pinching ways, she had asked Yaromira's work assistant Anushka to camp out on the couch downstairs as a temporary roommate rather than hire help. Though the spastic draenei was always good company and a friend to all, Irien made no secret of the fact that she missed her two best friends and felt they could always visit more often in the future if they liked instead of taking such long, extended breaks. If only to emphasize her point, she literally wrote in the last letter they'd received: 'that means I need you both to bring your asses home ASAP.'

So lost in thought had Cecilia been that she didn't notice Khujand was already there next to her until he plucked the pamphlet from her fingers.

"So this is tha stuff she passes out ta tha non-elves here?" he asked absentmindedly while he sipped his own tea.

Her eyes moved from the pamphlet to the early evening stars above. "To non-elves and her sister, apparently," she replied.

No longer lost in thought, Cecilia continued gazing at the stars - the one constant in her life. Unelia had always been there, but Cecilia had to leave - for reasons her sister understood and now accepted. But the stars were always there: even during her bleakest of nights at Booty Bay, washed up in a gutter; even during her loneliest of nights working herself into what she expected to eventually become arthritis as a maid; even during her moments of confusion and questioning of her future aboard the goblin ships; the stars were always there. Given that she could observe without losing herself, the question that came next didn't hit her particularly hard considering how much she disliked the topic.

"Cici, whashyu got against ya people's religion?" Khujand asked. "I know ya believe on ya own way and ya show so much respect ta what other people believe. Yet ya so resistant ta whashyu grew up with."

"A lingering question from the Kaldorei Moonwell of Return?" she asked knowingly.

"That, and tha weird look ya got on ya face when ya sister gave ya this pamphlet."

"Yes…"

"Yeah…"

They shared a laugh as she loosened up. Just as she hadn't allowed him to wiggle out of questions regarding his parents' origins during the previous month, he wouldn't allow her to wiggle out of the organized religion question now; she knew him too well.

"So what's tha problem?" he asked in between long sips of his tea.

"Can you be more specific?"

"Ya know what I mean, girl."

"Mm-hhmm," she hummed coyly, trying to hide her grin as she drank.

Cecilia tried to keep him waiting as long as possible, though when he leaned closer inquisitively a laugh eventually escaped from her lips.

"What do you want me to say!"

"Well, start at tha beginnin' of it. Why didya act weird at tha moonwell?"

Waiting though not hesitating, Cecilia pondered her answer for a beat. "I respect all religions, even that of the night elves."

"Ya say that like ya not one of them."

"Observant. I still respect the religious beliefs of my people. I might not have. Defending nature for so long based on strength of faith, only to lose that faith, could easily cause one to flip and be reactionary, and just claim the whole belief system is false or all religion is evil or something extreme like that."

"So ya stopped believin' at some point," he hummed. "After leavin' Kalimdor I take it? And seeyin' all tha other belief systems in Booty Bay?"

"Exactly. That exposure was a major factor; you know me too well."

"That, and tha fact that ya story isn't totally unique," her husband replied. His demeanor spoke of good nature but it was obviously a barb.

"Well look at you," she chuckled. "You're quite pointy at the prospect of a Kaldorei leaving Elune."

"I didn't mean nothin' by it girl, only that ya not alone," he said contritely.

"Alright. So, yes. I left the faith, something I believed in so dearly once we found that belief in nature after our second high priestess, Kalo'thera, established the temple at Hajiri before she died."

Cecilia was about to say more, but paused when Khujand's eyes widened ever so slightly. "So ya don't believe she descended ta tha heavens like all tha histories record?"

"I _know_ she didn't, honey, I was alive at that time. She only died a few centuries before the War of the Ancients, and I was already two thousand years old by the time that happened." She paused as she noticed her husband swoon, always in awe of her lifespan. "Stop it, you're making me feel like I'm so weird again."

"Ya are weird, but I love ya so it's okay."

She slapped his shoulder with a forced angry pout before continuing. "At the time, I pretended to believe the stories about her ascending to the stars due to societal pressure, but deep down inside I knew it was bullshit."

"Whoa!" Khujand burst out. "That would seriously geshya in trouble were ya ta say it out loud around here."

"Well, I'm talking to my husband so I get to vent. Because honestly, I can't even talk to Irien about this, she just gets fidgety and uncomfortable and makes me feel bad that for once, I might be corrupting her and not the other way around."

Setting his cup of tea on the balcony, Khujand leaned back to get a better look at her while still leaving his legs dangling off the edge next to hers. "So what really happened at Hajiri, then?"

"I don't know exactly, but I can venture a guess. Our society was still new - I'm from the third generation of night elves, born after the discovery of arcane magic, much like Maya or even Shalasyr. Unelia, Ralo'shan, even the notables like Tyrande and her husband were second generation, born after the Well of Eternity was discovered but before we began using arcane magic. The first generation was people like Celonia and honestly I don't know how many of them are still alive, but they were the first proper elves. They lived more than a thousand years at least, but their parents died after living for only a few centuries, and were neither elves nor trolls; like a missing link."

"So ya sister knew that true establishment of Kaldorei civilization then?"

"Exactly; people like Celonia lived through a transition phase, a pre-civilized phase, sort of like how furbolg live. Anyone who mentioned the troll-elf connection was considered a heretic, but even people my age suspected it. And since my family members saw life before the arcane, they knew a time when our civilization was as rudimentary as the Amani and Gurubashi and then grew into something more. The rituals, the beliefs, they weren't as elaborate back then."

"They evolved over time?" Khujand suggested more than asked.

"Yes! That's exactly the concept, over time. I have no doubt that Kalo'thera died and her zealots, either due to being true believers or wanting to deceive people - probably a mixture of motives among them - told everyone she ascended to the stars. They probably just buried her body in a secret spot and maybe even hallucinated her ascension and truly believed it happened." Cecilia felt her husband's giddiness at how animated she had become, but it didn't deter her or cause any embarrassment; this was literally the first time she'd opened up about her doubts over Kaldorei religion to anyone other than Sonja. Perhaps due to the troll-elf connection that tied into those doubts, the two people she felt discussing the matter with were ironically both Darkspear.

"But wait, Cici, hold on. Whashyu sayin' makes sense - my people do bullshit like this all tha time, fakin' revelations and orders from all sorts of non-existent deities," he reasoned. "But there are other things ya people got ta prove their beliefs that others don't."

"I'm getting to that, slow down."

"Alright, what then?" he asked.

"So Kalo'thera established the real temple at Hajiri, and it wasn't that grand. The real development happened when our people went deeper into the arcane. At first, things were marginally more advanced than your people's empires, and under Dejahna's religious leadership the main difference was just the arrogance, if I remember correctly."

"Mm-hmm...Dejahna was tha next High Priestess, yeah?"

"Yeah. Now, our histories claim that formal worship of Elune dates back fourteen thousand years - the time when Celonia was young, when our people first emerged from 'nocturnal humanoids' - your people. And they claim that informal worship surely existed before that - but here's the thing!" Cecilia punctuated her point with a raised index finger and she scooted back to sit cross-legged. "They don't have a shred of proof for any of that formal worship existing. And, and, and, this is very important, even Cenarius acknowledges that we're descended from dark trolls - yet no trolls have _any_ history of worshipping Elune or any moon deities, unlike the tauren, who worship Elune under a different name but who are totally unrelated to us."

Khujand mimicked her position and pulled his legs up from the balcony, facing her such that their knees were touching. "So…alright, I'm tryin' ta visualize this in my head, cause nobody says this - critics of ya people don't bother learnin' tha specifics of what night elves believe. And certainly none of tha others seem ta say this stuff out loud."

"Of course not."

"Right. Yeah. So…ya sayin' that Kalo'thera never ascended, it was a lie that tha Sisters of Elune either made up ta give people hope or somethin' or they hallucinated and truly believed it."

"Yes!" Cecilia exclaimed as her eyes lit up.

"And maybe that faith strengthened as part of tha national myth of ya people, ta feel like ya were better than trolls, tauren and tha other original races."

"Exactly! Oh my Goddess, honey," she shouted without sensing the irony in her words. "This is exactly the point!"

"And maybe due to tha shock of tha Burnin' Legion invasion, tha fake histories were expanded upon, probably unintentionally with people passin' around stories and tales, ta console themselves when surrounded by all tha pain and sufferin' mmphh phmmph mph," he mumbled at the end as she cupped his cheeks with her hands and stole a kiss.

"I love you so much!"

Khujand leaned forward and almost swooned again under the passionate assault, garnering a laugh from both of them.

"Alright-"

"Nobody else seems to get it!"

"Well slow down now, ya said a few things now that I don't necessarily agree with," he tried to state formally as he continued to compose himself. "Hang with me."

Cecilia put her hands on her hips and cocked her head cockily. "Oh really?"

"Easy, girl. We're gettin' there."

"So what do you dispute, then?"

"How dya explain immortality?"

"Yes! Excellent question which I am already prepared for." She cleared her throat dramatically a few times before starting. "We have physical evidence of immortality. Nordrassil was magic; it infused us with immortality, and when we lost it, we lost immortality. There was nothing divine about it; magic is tangible and measurable."

"Tha moon powers ya priestesses can call down?"

"Entirely under their own control based on decades of practice, just like other schools of magic. Not divine."

"Tha existence of dryads and Cenarius himself, supposedly tha son of Elune and Malorne?"

"Do you really believe that a goddess banged a stag!"

"Bah! Cici! Ya, hahahaha, come on now, even I find that kinda talk blasphemous!"

"No, I find _Elune and Malorne_ blasphemous, and they're disgusting. Keepers banging dryads is natural because they're both people, but an elf woman banging an animal is not; it's beastiality."

"Yeah but they were both deities-"

"You're not a polytheist, Khujand, you don't even believe in multiple deities."

"Let me finish."

Blowing a strand of hair away from her face like Irien would, she relented. "Please do."

"Okay. Listen. Supposedly they're both deities, so in that case it wouldn't be gross cause maybe they don't have corporeal sex."

"You don't actually believe that though, so how can you defend it as a possibility!"

"That's tha point; I don't think it's real, so I can detach myself from it," he retorted calmly. "I can look back and admire tha beliefs - which ya claim ya respect - and say, maybe we aren't supposed ta take it all literally. It's just how ya interpret it."

"An elf woman banging a stag?"

"Like ya."

"What?!" Cecilia yelled as her cheeks flushed.

"Well, my body naturally produces musk. But anyway-"

"Wow, what the hell," she laughed heartily while trying to cover her face.

"Aaaanyway, here's tha thing. I get what ya sayin'. Ya people were originally trolls, as Cenarius says, as Celonia says."

"Celonia is the more trustworthy of the two."

His jaw dropped, and he had to shake his head before continuing. "Anyway again, ya heathen," he chuckled at her ear to ear grin, "Ya people used ta be trolls. And we have a real example in Zanza of a mortal becomin' a Loa - I suspect tha Loa I met back in Durotar as once havin' been a troll."

"There's physical evidence about Zanza the Restless."

"Anyway for tha umpteenth time, ya people, and tha tauren who are also druids, sometimes refer to Elune as a mother," Khujand said softly as he squeezed her hand, and she could tell he was trying to be sincere. "So what I think, is that Elune might have been one of tha missin' links from tha generation of Celonia's parents, or maybe before them, tha first dark trolls that found tha Well of Eternity. Yeah...those first dark trolls, that's probably what she was."

"A perfectly logical, reasonable, realistic explanation, so you don't actually disagree with me!"

"Hold on, let me finish. I think she was like a tribal mother, just like how so many trolls around tha world and even furbolgs worship these pregnant lookin' fertility goddesses. So she led her progeny ta tha Well and found its power first, and like how Zanza became a Loa, she became somethin' powerful, even if she didn't get tha long lifespan that her descendants would. So tha people embellished her story over time cause they loved her so much, and they structured morality and charity and stuff around honorin' her memory."

"Which means that Cenarius is lying about Elune being his own personal mother since he's a different species from both an elf woman and a flipping stag entirely, and the Cenarion Circle was very kind for helping you get here to visit Ashenvale in the first place but what they're based on is shit that a Keeper of the Grove made up," Cecilia blurted out in one hyper, energetic, self-righteous breath of skeptical fury.

"No, Cici, ya still aren't gettin' it."

"What's not to get!"

"Ya can say it's a lie, and maybe Cenarius added ta those stories ta tie his race and ya race tagether ta better combat tha Legion-"

"So you agree with me!"

"No, Cici. I agree that it's made up, but it isn't shit." Her husband leaned forward and despite her frustration at the virtual slavery which nature and the dragonflights had inflicted on her people, the feeling of his hand on hers reminded her that she wouldn't have lived long enough to build the life she now loved without it. The flux of her emotions was fast and disorienting, but still clear in her mind. "Those beliefs strengthened ya people in tha face of horror and tragedy, and it led ta ya defendin' tha planet durin' tha Vigil when nobody else, not my people, not tha tauren, not tha pandaren were up ta it."

"So it was a useful lie, then?" she asked as her resentment refused to die away completely.

"It isn't fair ta call it all a lie, especially when ya respect tha beliefs of other races so much when ya speak. Parts of it is lies, though certainly less than what my people or tha humans and draenei believe in. But tha memory of that mortal dark troll lady that led tha tribe of my people that would become ya people - or however it happened in history, tha exact way isn't important - tha memory of her inspires people."

"Based on fairy tales?"

"Yeah, girl! There isn't anythin' wrong with that at all," he protested. "Look, tha world is an awful, ugly, evil place and ya experienced that first hand more than once. I don't gotta tell ya anythin' about that. People are stupid, cruel, selfish and greedy, whether we talkin' about elves, trolls, humans, gnolls, orcs, whoever. People are people no matter what tha color of their skin or tha structure of their face, and they don't gonna act good based solely on logic. That isn't logical anyway, logic dictates that tha strong rule tha weak without respectin' their rights. That's utilitarianistics."

"You've been talking to Irien."

"Well, she makes a lotta sense. Even if Elune was just a regular lady, she represents hope in times of despair. That name...well, if she really was just a troll tribal mother, then that wasn't her name anyway cause Darnassian hadn't evolved from Zandali yet. But that name represents light in tha darkness, and it's mirrored in other beliefs, not just that of tha tauren, pandaren, furbolgs or whatever. Ya don't gotta like or even tolerate everythin' about organized religion, but it's what made civilization as we know it."

"Haven't the Kaldorei, of all people, evolved beyond the need to believe in these stories?"

"Everythin' tha Kaldorei have is based on them. Tha entire Cenarion Circle is based on druidic magic, which is real and provable, and Cenarius' story about his mom bein' an elf and his dad bein' a wild animal, which I agree is probably made up, or maybe he's deluded and believes it, whatever. But it's tha buildin' block and if ya take away that core belief, whashyu got? Answer me girl, what's left?"

Cecilia pursed her lips in frustration. "Our beliefs make us racist and stubborn."

"Then start a revivalist movement if ya care so much about tha specific details of what every last individual believes," he huffed, and she wasn't able to suppress her laughter. "Seriously, look, I of all people know what it's like ta look at ya own people and be all like, 'what tha hell ya all worshippin'.' Okay? But look, ya know tha afterlife is real, right?"

"I've seen enough resurrection spells on the battlefield to know that, dear, thank you very much."

"So everybody's afraid of dyin' except maybe orcs, but they're cray. And nobody that goes too far can get resurrected, so we're all wonderin' what it's like. We all like ta think that tha bad people fry, at least for a time, and tha good people get outta jail free."

Hugging herself, Cecilia mulled the long conversation over in her head. It made sense, she had to admit, but her frustration at her own people for believing in what she felt certain were lies and manipulation by cynics festered within her at some level.

"I feel like if I concede to the beauty in it, I have to accept all this stuff that the majority believes in, extra details that we're not allowed to dispute," she sighed.

"Reject whatever ya want in ya heart and let other people believe what they wanna believe," Khujand urged. "Look, ya think Elune was a real, historic person, and an important one, right?"

"Yes, I get it," she said while rolling her eyes.

"So look, Cici, just take tha good and leave tha bad," he practically pleaded. "This is what ya fought for for over an eon. Yeah, it isn't perfect, and maybe cause ya served for so long and felt too gypped at tha end, ya just act a lot harsher when it comes ta tha beliefs ya grew up with. But listen." He tugged her hand twice to punctuate what he was saying. "It's never gonna seem perfect unless ya wrote tha scripture or whatever it is yaself. And if ya _did_ write it, then ya a charlatan. So it isn't gonna be an epiphany or anythin' but at least it can bring people solace in this harsh world, and I just find it sad that ya were there ta witness so much of this bein' developed, across a period of time I have difficulty fathomin', and ya cut off from it entirely."

Downcast, Cecilia felt the sense of loss though not with the intense guilt she'd expected at leaving the faith. To practice again almost felt like admitting defeat, though practicing nothing had left an emptiness which she realized her husband was pointing out to her. She still felt so angry at the Sisterhood and the Circle in general for promoting what she knew, most assuredly, were mostly stories invented to justify their haughtiness and the 'gift' of immortality and to cover up their tribal, Zandalari origins. And yet as Khujand slipped the pamphlet back into her hand, and as she smelled the myrrh of her sister's hair and skin on it, she couldn't help but almost feel a bit bad for having badmouthed something she knew good people devoted themselves to. People like her family.

"You really want me to go, even if you don't follow this religion yourself, don't you?"

"I told ya, I think we all worship tha same thing in different ways. And maybe some people like Valmar or Meatball don't really believe in anythin', but for most people it's a wonderful thing. Especially for my wife, whom I respect so much, and who I know fought so hard ta preserve this planet-"

"Stahp," she ordered, though not even nearing firmness.

"Who fought so hard ta preserve tha planet from whatever would threaten it, and that faith fueled her," he said softly. "I think ya should at least try, and give it a chance, and don't build up unfair expectations. It doesn't gotta be some huge life changin' experience. Ya just gonna go with ya sister, sing hymns or whatever ya do in tha temples for Elunisms, and be happy that before we die we got hope that we can atone for all tha awful stuff we did back at tha Gulch."

Though any anger she might have had was sapped at that point, Cecilia tried her best to force a grimace. "Below the belt," she grumbled.

"I'm sayin' that cause it's true, come on, I never mention that stuff any more. I get ta say it at least once a year."

Downstairs, they could hear Unelia rummaging in the changing room, in spite of not having heard her enter the house. That would mean it was time. Breathing deep and chugging the rest of her tea, Cecilia tried to mentally prepare herself as the two of them rose and descended the ramp.

"I guess this is it."

"Ya stahp, now," he chortled while massaging her shoulders as they walked. "Don't make a big deal outta it. Ya gonna partake in somethin' ya respect and somethin' ya must value on some level, given how ya do have some Kaldorei pride. I mean, ya resentment over joinin' tha Alliance obviously stems from a love for ya culture."

"I know," she sighed. "And I'll be going with my sister. I've dodged her the whole time; we have to do things for the family sometimes."

She felt him smooch her head behind her ear before he walked straight out of the house. "I'm gonna go wait for Johan around tha barricade. Maybe shoot tha breeze with Luara or throw rocks at tha cats or something'."

"Khujand!"

"Alright, alright, I was just kiddin'," he chuckled as he walked out of the house. As he looped back around to the main street, she heard him mumbling through the entryway. "I only throw rocks at cats when Irien's around."

Frowning at the outside wall, Cecilia steeled her nerve as Unelia popped up beside her. The elder sister's usual stoic, collected demeanor cracked slightly as she flashed a wide smile at the younger, taller sister.

"Ready to go?" she asked while guiding Cecilia outside by the arm without even checking if she was actually ready.

"Yes…it's been a long time."

Although Cecilia had still been a relatively staunch believer for the weeks she spent at Astranaar ten years ago between Silverwing and Booty Bay, she never took the time to visit the Astranaar temple due to her depression. Despite the dual nature of the night elven government - the theocracy backed up by the military dictatorship - the sentinel command tower and main temple were located on different parts of the island. She had expected the walk to feel like a long, drawn out one, yet by the time they arrived it hadn't even seemed like they'd traversed half of the relatively large sized lake island. Cecilia almost jumped - it was as though they'd stepped out the front door, chatted for a few sentences and bam, they were in front of the temple. She didn't even have time to take in the outer architecture before she realized they were ascending the stone steps naturally raised from the soil of the island, reaching to the raised platform upon which the inner sanctum had been carefully but naturally designed.

Several other Kaldorei and a human who had converted like Johan passed by on their way out, and Cecilia tried to fight herself internally as she almost felt choked up upon feeling the familiar yet long missing tingle as she passed underneath the wooden entry arch standing a specific number of paces before the sliding wooden door with paper coverings over the windows. She had spent the most important years of her life - miniscule in terms of numbers but gargantuan in terms of influence - convincing herself of the folly of her people's pride, arrogance and false beliefs. She didn't want to feel such warmth emanating from this place. And yet, there it was.

Unlike the highborne style temples - the design of which was mimicked for the main temple at Darnassus, yet again disgusting Cecilia at her people's hypocrisy - this temple was truly what she'd remembered from the longest part of her life. Only the one story high platform was stone, but the walls, the support pillars, the huge, curving rooftop - it was all wood, naturally grown in the proper shapes and colors.

Inside, a tranquility she wished she could deny settled over her as her arms shook slightly under her sister's grip. _This wasn't supposed to happen_ , Cecilia thought to herself. This wasn't supposed to feel so comfortable. This was an entire belief system based on the embellished story of a dark troll tribal mother who had led her children and grandchildren to a lake which she had no idea was enchanted. They had only evolved from cave-dwelling hunter-gatherers by accident, not design. Cecilia wasn't supported to feel so happy, yet she couldn't will herself to be scornful or dismissive.

The inner sanctum opened up to the night sky, and a garden naturally sprouted up from the stone platform. Some people sat on benches against the wall, partitions with slits granting them privacy while still allowing them a view of the garden. In front of a central tree, an everlasting sapling - never to wither and die but also never to completely grow - evoked some sense of what she thought the temple was doing to her people: nurturing them to strength and good health while preventing them from maturity as they used the crutch.

Grass touched her bare feet and Cecilia realized her sandals had been removed, though she could not remember when. Her sister pulled her down as they knelt in a circle of other women facing the tree. Up close, she could see that it was growing straight out of a pool of water rather than soil, much like Nordrassil had grown from the second Well of Eternity or how Teldrassil supposedly sprouted from the ocean. There were no men in the circle, though society had changed so much in her absence - she'd even seen women with short hair since arriving - that Cecilia didn't know if their absence was due to the old rules of gender segregation or to there simply not being as many of them at that specific worship service.

Thought melted away as she realized her upper body was slowly rocking back and forth. Cecilia tried to fight it, tried to stop it and hold still, tried not to feel anything at all, but to no avail. Unelia held her hand and Cecilia squeezed back, letting her heart pray secretly, not needing to broadcast her embarrassment at leaning on the crutch to anyone. Her vision became blurred even though there were not lanterns indoors, and she felt as though she were lying in the pool of water itself. Unelia guided Cecilia's somehow wet hand to her forehead, letting go as the younger sister wiped from front to back herself, with ever so little water as not to be greedy.

Everything felt so natural, so familiar, and so welcome that for at least one night Cecilia allowed herself to relax, forget all her blasphemous misgivings and just feel. It wasn't an epiphany or revelation just as Khujand had predicted, but also as he predicted, a wholeness filled her. It felt right. Perhaps she'd return to her foul-mouthed skepticism later, but at that moment she nearly drifted off. She only regretted not having dragged her husband in there with her to share, though there would always be next time.

How had she left this off for so long…

* * *

A few days later, Cecilia finished up her goodbyes with Corrianna and little Elindir before sending them off with big Elindir. Although she would be sure to see the kids again early after new year's, Johan felt they wouldn't take a drawn-out goodbye well and has asked uncle to whisk them off to the library at the first opportunity after a brief round of hugs. Ever the optimist and always smiling, Elindir I behaved as though he'd be seeing his neice and new nephew-in-law after a matter of days. 'Take life easy and don't rush even at your last minute,' he'd said before bidding them farewell with his typical warmth and not a hint of sorrow. On the one hand Cecilia had expected a bit more of a reaction; on the other, she envied her uncle's ability to remain so relaxed when others of his generation were passing away left and right. Elindir placed a hand on Khujand's shoulder in the same fatherly way he'd done with Johan all those years ago, showing the similar lack of hesitation over the women that were more akin to his daughters than his neices marrying short-lived outlanders.

With a final smile, uncle walked off, following the children's lead as though he was absolutely certain Cecilia's ten years of absence were just a fluke, a blip on the map.

While Khujand packed extra supplies in his typical pre-travel paranoia, Cecilia chatted lightly with Johan by the door. The fact that she was finally able to deal with her brother-in-law in a truly family-like manner without her former standoffishness was not only refreshing but also took her mind off the fact that she was leaving them all over again.

Unelia clearing her throat as she entered the home after having been in the storage room out back brought her mind back.

Not using her staff left Unelia stepping a bit more slowly than usual, and at first Cecilia didn't notice what she'd been carrying. The elder sister hesitated at the doorway for a moment, and as Cecilia joked with Johan about the night of the homecoming party, she could see Unelia fiddling with something long in her hands.

Ignoring it at first, Cecilia focused on her brother-in-law's imitation of a cantankerous gnome, her husband repacking their bags again in one side of her peripheral vision and the silhouette of her sister shifting the long, thin item in the other.

"He even threw his shoes at us. I believe they were clogs, which is how poor Faldreas got that lump on his head," Johan joked while rubbing is own head like he could feel it happening. "That little guy throws much harder than we expected." Unelia held the item in two open palms as the others conversed, inspecting it with what appeared to be longing, like a long-lost prize.

"Is it true that he literally lives under a rock?" Cecilia asked, yet again failing to notice the gleam that should have been familiar to her. "Like, you pull a rock up, and he has this little hole he lives in underneath it?"

"Support pillars inside and everything," Johan replied with a laugh as his wife cleared her throat again. He continued to speak, unaware of the silent exchange occurring in the room. "That's actually how the whole ordeal started. See, you'd think Geldor would be the voice of caution considering he's the oldest, but...Isu?"

Every muscle in Cecilia's body tensed as soon as she recognized what her sister had pulled out from the storage. Similar to the delusion she'd experienced when trying to reach out to her now demented father, Cecilia's brain rejected what her eyes saw at first, and she imagined her sister was carrying some pile of nondescript household items.

"Uni!" she gasped. "What...what is this..."

Unelia's hands were trembling as she approached. Sensing an exchange that was beyond the both of them, Johan promptly edged over to Khujand, helping the confused blue man to repack the bags even faster.

The sterling, elven forged silver truly did gleam at that point, and there was no means of denying what Cecilia knew she saw.

Voice wavering as she spoke, Unelia tried to explain the inexplicable to her stunned sister.

"It laid at Cenarion Hold for a very long time; they'd recovered it after Southwind fell," she explained as clearly as possible considering her emotional state. "After you left, I reached out for something...any sort of connection to our past...one of the sentinels on rotation noticed the insignia when inspecting it at the war gallery they established at the Hold."

Cecilia's hands began trembling as well, and her knees followed suit. It couldn't be possible, yet it was lying right in front of her.

The shaft was roughly eight feet long, not flexible enough to be bent but not rigid or brittle enough to be shattered upon impact.

The one and a half foot long blade at the tip bore four points and was serrated, promising to slice its target four ways and rip the flesh on its way out.

The hippogriff feathers attached at the weld joining the blade to the shaft were the same ones Cecilia had always remembered, unweathered as if by some sort of blessing from the Goddess herself.

The insignia at the base displayed no scratches, the authentic elven handiwork withstanding the test of time.

"This is _mother's lance_!" Cecilia rasped, too choked up to even cry out. "H-h-how?"

Unelia continued looking at the imposing weapon as she spoke, seemingly unable to lift her head. "The silithids took her away from us, and stole much of her armor. Her lance remained buried, only to be discovered by an archeological dig much later. It sat in a storage unit at Cenarion Hold for Goddess knows how long before being displayed in the armory as what they dubbed 'the martyr's lance' without even knowing how true the name is. The curator only noticed the name a few years back and contacted somebody in Ironforge...who contacted somebody in Stormwind, who contacted a certain reclusive member of our people in _Ellwynd_ of all places, who looked upon our name and contacted me."

A creaking neck pulled back until Unelia was able to look up into her speechless sister's face. Cecilia had covered her mouth with both hands without realizing it, unable to process everything that happened. She came back expected a cold reception and an awkward visit. With only one exception, the visit had been wonderful beyond belief, but this was almost over the top. Everything they had to remember their mother by physically had been wiped out during the War of the Shifting Sands save her clothes, which had long since deteriorated over the past thousand years. They had a millennia to mourn and move on, and yet there it was in front of them.

Tears fell from the eyes of an ancient, stoic being who had seen so much as she held the lance out. "She'd want you to have it," Unelia choked out. "You're heavy cavalry, like her. And the Barrens is an untamed land...unlike here, where I have no use of it."

"How...you went to the trouble of salvaging it...I'm not worthy," Cecilia said, the admiration of her mother one emotion that hadn't lessened over the many long years.

"It belongs to all of us; you merely have the opportunity to put it to good use. But it will always stay in the family," Unelia said as she forced the heirloom onto her sister. Cecilia stood slack-jawed, the words not even passing her throat. "You don't need to say anything, Isurith. You keep it. You keep it with you, and when the children are older...one day...we will see it again when we come to visit." Unelia wiped her nose with a kerchief, composing herself much better once Cecilia was holding the lance instead. "You keep that for the family, and we will hold on to your hauberk for now. By the time you visit again, the repairs will be done."

"Yes..." was all Cecilia could murmur, overburdened by her ever stubborn need to contain herself.

"And you will not visit us once a year. You will visit us twice a year."

"Yes..."

"Clear your schedule for a month each time. You will only be spending ten months of the year in Ratchet." One last tear fell, though Unelia's voice had become clear.

"Of course," Cecilia hushed.

"I have...some things to tend to here in the house," Unelia said sadly. "But we expect to receive letters along your journey home, and every week after you arrive."

"Of course."

"Johan will walk you to the flight point."

The four stood silently in the house, nobody quite knowing what to say. The trip had been incredible, tense, relaxing, awkward, comfortable, heartwrenching and lovely all wrapped into one. The two ancient sisters had gone through every emotion possible despite supposedly being unfeeling. After ten years of separation that outweighed their twelve millennia together, they'd ended up spending an amazing month with each other, the last portion unplanned but still amazing nonetheless. And now, they would be parting ways again. The fact that it would be a temporary parting lessened the pain but didn't cause it to dissipate entirely, and Cecilia couldn't fault her sister for remaining in the house while they left.

Unelia grabbed her wrist and Cecilia hugged back at the same time, the two of them clinging to one another tightly as their husbands made for the door, granting them privacy which wasn't needed anyway. They released, and when Unelia looked up at her, Cecilia felt like all the good times were taking place all over again. They'd lost a significant decade with one another, but they'd make up for it with whatever amount of time the Goddess would allow them to remain.

Catching Khujand as he left, Unelia bid her brutish brother-in-law farewell, signaling that it was time. Not wanting to linger, Cecilia followed the two men out, forcing herself not to look back just as she had when she ran away from home on that fateful day ten years ago. Khujand and Johan chatted as they walked down the street, and Cecilia was grateful that she'd said all her goodbyes to their friends and neighbors the night before; on this somber day, she didn't want any more eyes upon her.

Just as when she'd run away, the long walk from the Swiftfoot residence to the flight point passed in no time. Cecilia blinked, and Johan had already led them to the platform, that familiar tall architecture of the hippogriff roost growing partially out of the moat greeting her once more. Daelyshia, the flight mistress, glanced at Cecilia as fleeting recognition washed over her face, though it obviously left as quickly as it had come when she turned away to bring the two hippogriffs back. The mounts had been well cared for since the unfortunate incident on that first night, and seemed as healthy as ever.

Daelyshia and Johan helped the couple load their bags, slightly weighed down with gifts ranging from authentic Kaldorei trinkets and ornaments to a hand-made night elf kilt large enough to fit Khujand. Before they had mounted, Johan stopped them both.

"You have a home here, both of you," he said as sadness even appeared on the elf trapped in a human's body for the first time. "No matter what happens, there will always be a place for you - you don't even need to bother checking first."

Nodding congenially, Cecilia and her husband mounted up and flew off without delay; she found no need to linger, and even Johan left before they were entirely out of sight; the easiest goodbyes were the shortest.

As they flew off from Astranaar, Cecilia marveled at how this time, she did so without the feelings of shame she had so long ago. She and Khujand soared, catching a remarkable speed as they tried their best to enjoy the view but also to beat the moonset before reaching Raynewood Retreat. They still needed to thank Keeper Ordanus, Sentinel Frostshadow and Shael'dryn face to face for making the whole trip possible as well as for arranging the next one in advance.

So occupied were they that they didn't notice the angry silver-haired sentinel trailing them beneath the canopy on her own hippogriff, watching their every move.

 **End of her arc.**


	33. Mended Again

The relatively light weight of her mother's lance strapped to her back was an incredible feeling. Cecilia had always served in the cavalry rather than as a windchaser, although she had flown on a few excursions to root out harpy infestations. The fact that she was a bit taller than even many night elf men meant she wouldn't be as maneuverable in the air as someone as small as, say, Unelia was. And so she had stuck to her natural aptitude of heavy cavalry, riding atop nightsabres and crashing through enemy ranks.

It was still exhilerating, though, and now that she was retired - in a technical sense, even from the cartel unless she specifically chose to train warriors on her own time - she could travel and ride in any role she wanted. Over the course of the day long trip from Astranaar to Raynewood Retreat, Cecilia occasionally wielded the family lance just because. She wasn't quite used to it; the lances were used for cavalry versus cavalry battles or for cavalry versus infernals and other large demons. For cavalry versus infantry, with which Cecilia had the most experience, a glaive was more appropriate. Even though they were technically part of the Sentinel Air Force, hippogriff riders did fill a role similar to that of cavalry and tended to carry either bows or, much more rarely, lances. The ride felt familiar but the weapon did not. To fly across her homeland after having left, wielding her new heirloom after having thought she'd lost every trace of her mother, was a feeling both unfamiliar yet nostalgic.

But none of that mattered. Cecilia felt happy. Not only had she reconnected with a family she'd hurt by leaving, but she'd reconnected with them quickly and easily. Even the goodbye wasn't as difficult as she had expected, and were it not for the passing down of the heirloom, Unelia may not have even cried. The knowledge that they would be visiting again within half a year caused Cecilia's spirit to swell with joy, and now that she felt comfortable enough to write directly to the family herself, she knew that not even her hasty absconding ten years prior could break the bonds of a conservative, if not exactly conventional, Kaldorei family.

They flew at a relatively low altitude, observing the road through the long break in the canopy. There was a surprisingly high number of travelers on the ground, many more than Cecilia had been used to seeing in Ashenvale. None of them glanced up to see the couple soaring overhead, but from her vantage point she could tell that the level of racial diversity had increased; and, to her delight, she didn't feel bothered by that at all. Night elves were still the clear majority (which she actually did prefer), but almost every group was accompanied by one or two members of the Alliance races. Across the many hours, she knew for certain that accompanying one group of druids was - she slowed down to be sure, and she _was_ sure - an orc shaman.

It was almost hard to believe - both the scenes below and her own warm reaction to them. During their long isolation, she never would have believed that one day, outlanders from other continents and even other planets would get along so well with her ancient people. And not only get along well in general, but that she in particular would feel happy to see the tenders of the spirit world from both night elves and orcs traveling together. Perhaps Azeroth finally was becoming a different place. The craft of war would never disappear totally, but maybe the races of the world would put aside their differences after being pushed even closer by the threats of the Burning Legion, Scourge and Iron Horde. Images of her brother-in-law, neice and nephew ran through her head as she marveled at how every individual does their part. As private as Unelia and Johan's marriage had been, the reality was that the elder sister was the first night elf to marry outside after the isolation ended. Nobody really knew who the couple were outside of their neighborhood in Astranaar and the temple, yet their relationship may very well have broken down the barrier for others, such as Irien's older brother who married some human woman in Stormwind or this Melas fellow Cecilia suddenly remembered, who had married a dark troll woman - the progenitors of their people but still viewed as quite different nonetheless.

And as her slightly less acrophobic-than-usual husband managed to keep up with her on his hippogriff, Cecilia couldn't help but gaze at him and smile as he irreverently stared at the stars meeting the trees on the horizon. Unelia's almost guilty question over both sisters having chosen non-Kaldorei men rang through her head and caused her to giggle slightly. The world was an open place now, even though the reality was that most people would still marry someone from their own race. If a minority of people like them chose to marry an individual regardless of their origins, it was their right, she thought, punctuating it in her mind with the word 'damnit' at the end.

That her husband had been so well received in her homeland had made the entire vacation more delightful than she could have imagined. Racism was rampant in the Alliance in general and her people in particular. Whether it be the orcs, Sindorei or even the tauren and other Alliance races, Cecilia knew well how many of her people looked upon the others as insects - she once harbored such awful sentiments herself. But for the trolls, there was a special sort of acrimony from what she had remembered. The rumors of night elves being the smaller descendants of trolls were rampant even before the Sundering, when such suggestions were officially considered heretical slander; that they had persisted for so long made Cenarius' affirmation of the rumors unsurprising. To have it shoved in their faces - the fact that they were merely the vicious, savage people from the Stone Age who only evolved into what they were today due to the arcane magic they hated so much - was too much for many Kaldorei to take, thus a lot of their people hated the trolls even more than the orcs.

Or some of them, at least. Those two sentinels at Raynewood confirmed that night elf women marrying jungle troll men wasn't unheard of, and obviously Melas was known locally. Last Cecilia could remember before she left, people such as herself would have been assumed to be under some voodoo hypnotics. Yet here, Khujand really only had minor trouble. At Raynewood Retreat - a military base - he essentially entered with only the dryads knowing, and perched on a tree right in the middle of Sentinel Frostshadow's jurisdiction. Yet, surrounded by dozens of sentinels and druids, he had not only been pulled out of the tree by Shael'dryn and ushered through the camp without prevention, but was even allowed to meet Ordanus - formerly one of the most wanted men by Horde assassins - face to face. At Astranaar, he may have entered unmolested had Luara not had some sort of power trip episode that earned her the disapproval of a sizeable crowd of Alliance onlookers as well as Thenysil. Even better, Luara seemed embarrassed for her actions and had likely reacted so negatively due to feeling like the disapproval had boxed her into a corner; once Cecilia had brought the purple-faced commander to the restaurant and held on to her all night, any sort of tension that might have existed dissipated.

The whole trip had been great, Cecilia beamed internally. It wasn't quite over yet - once they arrived at Raynewood, she doubted either Frostshadow or Shael'dryn would let them leave after only a single day of sleep without visiting - but still, it felt like quite a feat. To imagine that she'd run away from home within such a communal culture only to return after deep personality changes of her own and accompanied by a husband who was once an enemy combatant…

Through her flying goggles, she saw his broad back heave as though he were sighing heavily, and she remembered something. Something left unsaid.

"Hey honey," she shouted across the wind while waving him down. His long ears pricked up, though his eyes remained trained forward as he obviously hadn't quite built up the courage to look anywhere except in front of his path while flying. "There's a huge purplewood breaking out through the canopy ahead, let's perch!"

Racing forward before he even had a chance to hesitate, Cecilia took the lead as she spied a particularly flat outcropping of the hundred-foot-high trunk from whence three enormous branches sprouted. It was obviously grown that way intentionally though out of use by windchasers, though since her patrols had always been by sabre if she ventured more than an hour's worth of travel from Serenity, she couldn't venture a guess as to when it fell out of use with the airborne sentinels. She arced around in a circle that was unnecessarily wide for her but essential for him, demonstrating how to land. He's already done so at Raynewood, but that tree was much smaller and much closer to the ground. This purplewood may very well have been pre-Sundering, perhaps older than Cecilia herself, and was merely shaped to form a hippogriff perch later on.

Khujand landed beside her, his hippogriff latching on naturally and flawlessly though he still buckled as if they would fall. Giving the creature a rest, she dismounted and carefully helped him to do so as well, holding on to his arm as he balanced between her and his mount needlessly. She giggled like a youthful three-thousand year old again, practically giddy as he moved stiffly to a wide sitting spot on branches as wide as roads despite being totally safe in her hands. The hippogriffs settled in on their perches, happy for the break after what must have been six hours of flying - their gnomish clock was packed away in the bags, so they couldn't tell exactly. From their spot, both wife and husband had an amazing view of the far western edge of Nightsong Woods. This part happened to be a particularly long, flat expanse, and even the mountain chains bordering the region to both the north and south weren't visible; their perch was the highest vantage point for hundreds of miles. Literally, hundreds of miles; during her ground patrols over the thousands of years, the night elves had measured and passed the knowledge of each territory orally.

Cecilia locked arms with Khujand as they sat next to each other quietly. Even at their altitude, the air was mostly quiet; the wind wasn't blowing much and the sounds of the forest were trapped by the canopy below. Once they had taken a few minutes to rest, she felt the tension leave him and he leaned against her a little bit more. The time was right to open the can of worms, though she knew it was best to always do so gradually with him.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" she started. "I never said anything back in Durotar or the northern Barrens, but I was honestly worried when we were approaching Raynewood."

"Yeah, I know whashyu mean, girl. Given how much tha world has changed, it was hard ta guesstimate how they woulda reacted ta someone like me. And even ya."

"I know, the issue with my eyes. My people can be judgmental about open sins and mistakes. But the trip was great, wasn't it? You have another home here."

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, smiling to himself. "That's one thing, Cici...ya gave me more than I coulda imagined."

"Well it was my family's decision to accept you," she added. "Readily, too. I couldn't have forced them had they not wanted to."

"Naw girl, don't be coy. I have that family cause of ya."

Cecilia was both warmed by his words and frustrated by the absence of an avenue to reopen their discussion from over three weeks before. Taking a page from his book, she simply changed the subject without any segue.

"Dear..."

"Yeah?"

"About our conversation at the House of Edune..."

Khujand's breathing hitched for a split second before continuing as usual. Then his torso crunched ever so slightly the way it did whenever he realized she was observing him. As gentle as she behaved with him, she also felt as though this was a conversation they needed to have even if it caused him discomfort to discuss it at first.

When he didn't respond, she took that as her cue to delve in.

"What happened, huh?" she asked with concern written on her face. "I didn't realize it until we reached Astranaar, but you spent much of that first night milling about in their herb garden."

"They got some interestin' stuff growin' back there."

"There isn't an herb on all of Azeroth and Outland that Sonja neglected to grow in the basement of the shop," she countered. "Come on, talk to me!"

"It's dumb, Cici, don't think it's anythin' more-"

She cut him off by pressing her fingers over his lips. "No, you aren't backing out of this. You granted me reprieve regarding the whole religion thing at the Moonwell of Return and broached the topic again at Astranaar - for the better, by the way."

"I granted ya reprieve for longer than ya granted me," he mumbled sheepishly, eliciting a good natured laugh from her.

"Honey!" she chortled as she threw her arms around him. "You weren't counting the days, were you?"

"Don't make fun of me." His voice wasn't entirely serious and he smiled along with her as she rubbed her nose in his cheek.

"Oh, Khujand...why are you holding back?"

"Please, it isn't important-"

"Liar."

Caught red handed trying to bottle up his feelings, Khujand tried staring down into the canopy before Cecilia literally tilted his chin toward her with her fingers. "Let me inside, please. You haven't acted like this in over a year." She rubbed a circle on his upper back, doing her best to make him feel at ease. "I thought I'm the one you always run to with how you feel?"

He shook his head. "There's nothin' ta run with."

Turning further toward him, she leaned in close and sat quietly for a moment. "We're trapped in this tree. I won't help you remount until you tell me what upset you."

"I'm not upset!"

"Liar."

"I...Cici..."

"Tell me!"

She leaned on his cheek for a while longer after he sighed. In the mere year and a half they'd been together, she'd already learned to read his various cues visually and audially, and knew his reluctant sigh from this one - his contemplative sigh. Enjoying the view as he thought, she waited for however long it took him to open up.

"Ya said somethin' when we arrived at Edune," he began, and waited for her to respond. When she didn't he sighed for a third time and carried on. "Ya friend there seemed curious about ya marryin' a troll, and ya made a comment. And I guess maybe it's immature of me ta take it tha wrong...ah...Cici...I think this is enough." He stared at their laps in an attempt to soothe himself, but this time she allowed him to escape momentarily and did the talking.

"Khujand, it isn't stupid, whatever it is; come on, we're beyond this. It's entirely possible that I said something insensitive and didn't realize it. But please, tell me; maybe there's some sort of explanation of words I used thoughtlessly."

"Naw, ya haven't done nothin' wrong," mumbled unconvincingly.

"You're upsetting me," she said to him in a low, soft voice. "You're not telling me what's wrong and it hurts." It was a low blow and she knew it, but just like pushing the subject to begin with, the guilt trip would ultimately help him feel better.

"Ya not gonna leave me be."

"If I did leave you alone when you're obviously bothered, then that would mean there's a problem. For the hundredth time, tell me what's in here," she said while running a finger along his temple.

Breathing deep, he started with an embarrassed mumble that reminded her of when they became reacquainted in Gorgrond. "Ya friend asked ya about marryin' trolls and ya said, cause there are less night elf men than women, it's inevitable that ya eyes would wander."

Gears turned in her head as he closed his eyes, though the big, blue, burly man's stung feelings were laid out for Cecilia to see. "Oh, Khujand," she started with a loving smile despite her natural concern for his emotional state. "You really honestly thought I meant that I'm only with you because I couldn't find somebody else?" she asked with a sympathetic voice.

"Well, it would make sense ta some people," he said in a very sulking, moping tone. "Maybe even ta ya friend."

"What the - how can you even think that for one minute? For one second, even? Honey, I just misspoke; even if it were raining night elf men or jungle troll men or all men in general, I'm with you because I want to be! You know that!"

"Cici...from tha first night we got here, I saw tha look in ya eyes. Ya were so truly happy ta see tha land of ya people again. Ya spent so many long millennia here, connected ta this land - ya called it a holy land before. Ya older than most of ya people still livin' taday; ya seen civilizations rise and fall." His mouth hung open for a moment but no words came, and she felt the shock. They were so in tune with one another, so perceptive of each others' emotions, yet she literally had no inkling of this insecurity of his before. He had hid it so well, yet he was never good at hiding things. "How could it not cross my mind? Ya twelve thousand years old; ya mastered almost every secondary profession, ya learned six languages before and now a seventh after bein' with me for a year and a half. Ya read every classic book, practiced every combat maneuver, I mean, ya practically had every conversation. I'm like an insect next ta ya-"

"Stop talking like that! By the night, you almost disrespect my choice of being with you if you think-"

"Dya want me ta tell ya how I feel?" he inquired with more confidence in his voice.

Pausing, she felt both gobsmacked at her husband's silliness and guilty for having cut him off when he was venting his worries. "I'm sorry. I do want you to finish, this is just...why didn't you tell me?"

"How can I? I feel like ya deserve tha world and I can't give ya tha world cause my mind is nothin' next ta ya's."

"No, that's not true!" she protested. "The Kaldorei aren't as wise as we think we are - you know how many times we've discussed that!"

"But ya still wiser than tha rest of us, and ya have so much experience...I don't have much in common with ya past."

She almost had to fight off a laugh. Despite her sympathy for his insecurity, she felt it completely unfounded. "Honey, we do have so much in common; these last ten years had more influence on me as a person than the previous ten thousand. I wasn't even a person at all back then, just a patrolling machine. I'm with you because our mistakes in the present drew us together and, well, I love you!"

"There are many of ya kind that made tha mistakes we did, and regret it like we do. And they share that with ya plus ya long past," he said matter of factly, more certain of what he was saying but also less pained.

"I am NOT interested in anybody because of their past." Her voice was firm but not overbearing, and she was absolutely sure of what she was saying. "If other people want to marry someone because of a shared past, fine. That's their personal choice and I won't judge. But I personally have zero interest in ending up with someone due to a shared past. I loved my life before the Sundering, it was a good time, but it's over now. I don't even want it to come back. I'm happy now, in the present, and I am exactly where I want to be. THAT is who I'm interested in, Khujand; somebody who shares my present. My past is just that, for me, personally: my past."

She could feel him lighten up through his demeanor and the look on his face, but he still tried to protest weakly. "Our present is partially formed by tha past. My maturity level is less than ya's." Obviously, he was reaching out more for comfort and hand-holding than actual reassurance, as the message seemed to be getting through. If he needed his hand to be held, however, she could do that both literally and figuratively.

"Of course there's a maturity difference, but not like what you think. The emotional growth of most of our kind was stunted. Before the Sundering, indulgence made us complacent and ignorant. During the Vigil, monotony robbed us of sentience. I really don't feel that different from the trolls, humans, orcs or dwarves I've met in the past decade. I mean, I know a lot more, I've seen a lot more, I'm more patient, but there are orcs who are more patient than other orcs too, for example."

Squeezing his hand to punctuate her point, she leaned closer to his ear for the coup de grace. "Plus, I'm from a society where the women are in charge. Being with a younger and less mature man makes it easier to boss you around, which is fine by me."

Before she could react, he grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, lightly tickling her in her soft spots with his elbows and the edge of his wrists. It was a precarious position and he seemed to have let go not only of his delusion of inadequacy but also his fear of heights. They jostled for a moment until, feeling the discomfort in her bladder, she began to shove him such that he panicked again and grabbed on to the tree's branches.

"I'm with you because I choose you as an individual," she panted while resting her chin on his shoulder to look up at him. "I did not choose a race or an age; I chose a person. Our daily habits match, you compromise easily and we both enjoy being around each other. I don't think we've had an argument since Draenor."

Khujand's cheeks actually flushed at her comment, and she fought to keep him facing her so she could see. Relenting, he held her up straight in his lap as she wrapped her pinky and ring fingers around the four-inch, sawed-off remains that were once his tusks and pecked her on the forehead.

"No more moping, alright?" she commanded, not asked.

"Alright."

He cupped the back of her head and they spent a few minutes simply inspecting each other. She'd memorized every detail of that brutish yet feral type of handsomeness in his face, and despite the lower level of diversity among her people, she knew he would always be able to pick her out in a crowd. And there the two of them sat, saying nothing with their mouths but many things with their eyes as they rested up before several more hours of travel.

The two of them were so enraptured that neither of them heard the nasal wheeze coming from a break in the canopy below. An angry looking silver haired sentinel flew off to the southeast on her own hippogriff, unnoticed by the couple she had been observing.


	34. Soon

A lone hippogriff soared toward a small mountain in the Ashenvale forest. The rocky rise was almost small enough to be considered a large hill, though the specific label did not matter. What lied inside is what mattered.

It was late, and very soon the moon would set. The rider spurred the mount on, scanning the cliff face for the familiar opening toward the bottom. Once located, she circled around, making haste so as not to be seen by any passersby. Aiming for a break in the canopy, she dove under, landing the creature into a steady gallop toward a barely noticeable break in the rocky natural wall. Most signs of the previous skirmish had been removed, though splinters of wood and metal shards remained near the blood stains on the grass in a few spots. Several other hippogriffs were milling about beneath a tree, and she dismounted to leave hers among them.

Turning to the opening that appeared to lead to a cave, the rider strode through a scene of pure chaos.

Between the last of the low hanging branches of the tree and the cave mouth lied a dozen bodies. Scattered all around, it appeared as though some sort of official group had been attacked, the tabards of multiple organizations stained with blood as the emissaries and their bodyguards all remained motionless.

Most striking, however, was that the dead represented both factions.

Walking calmly, the silver-haired rider stepped over an orcish bodyguard impaled on a greatsword. The wound was jagged and open, too large for the greatsword bearing an Alliance insignia, as though the wound had originally been created by a different weapon which had been yanked out, only for the wound to be stabbed again with this other weapon.

Right next to him lied a human bodyguard whose armor had been pierced by a greatsword, but whose wound was awkwardly plugged with an orc grunt's axe.

And so was the case with the other victims. Not only were they dead, but most of them appeared to have had their wounds manipulated. Not so much to mutilate them as to mask the cause of death.

As the rider approached the cave with her long ears bouncing, her burning silver eyes caught the sight of movement. Glancing to her side, the rider spotted another night elf wearing sentinel's armor crawling across the ground. Her efforts were barely noticeable, so slowly was she inching across the red tinted grass toward a dead comrade. The sole survivor had been stabbed in the torso and was quickly losing blood from the gash beneath her floating rib, though given on the spot field healing, she could theoretically survive.

Yet when the rider approached her fellow sentinel, the wounded Kaldorei whose blue hair had been stained red displayed a look of dread in her eyes. Turning back around, she frantically tried to crawl away, seeking to escape from her sister sentinel and ostensible savior. The silver haired elf reached to the ground for the broadsword of a decapitated Forsaken deathguard, the Undercity insignia on it gleaming in the moonlight. As it reflected the lunar illuminescance onto the silverhead's guild tabard, the archaic elven rune for "WAR" came into view.

Giving up on the futility of escape, the ancient, assumedly wise yet also wounded blue haired sentinel gave up the crawl. As she appeared to realize that her fellow night elf wouldn't leave her be, she reached out. Coughing up blood for only a second, she turned to meet the silver haired rider's eyes, flashing a pleading look that had 'why' written all over it. A weak hand drained of all energy raised up, holding out her palm as though to seek quarter from one who should be her sister in arms to the very end.

The strike wasn't particularly fast; it didn't need to be. The silverhead thrust the broadsword into the bluehead's chest right where her heart laid. Death was painful but mercifully quick, and the silver haired sentinel made sure to leave the deathguard's blade in the wound.

Turning away coldly, the silverhead continued her march into the cave as though the devastation around her didn't exist. There seemed to be an even split between messengers and bodyguards, and most (though not all) of the major races of Azeroth were represented. At only twelve members, the group wasn't particularly large and wouldn't be a particularly significant loss, but the presence of diplomatic letters scattered across the ground insinuated that the loss would at least be noticed. Weapons of the opposing faction had been shoved into the jagged wounds of the fallen on both sides, sloppily enough that anyone happening upon the scene might suspect foul play anyway.

Inside, the cave had been turned into a temporary base of command. Rugs and mattresses were set up along with tables and a portable, fold-up weapon and armor rack. On a central table was a crudely drawn map with pins marking various locations, and several sentinels and a druid were busy forging letters in different languages at a long table underneath the guild's banner. In the middle of it all, a tall sentinel with evergreen hair stood arrogantly with her arms folded behind her back. Two messengers had been bound and forced to kneel before her by a sentinel attendant, one a human and the other an orc. From the looks of them, they had only barely been spared from the carnage outside and a terrible thrashing delivered inside.

The silver haired sentinel approached, pausing only to bow and then listen to the exchange from midway through.

"Your lack of cooperation is most unfortunate," said the green haired sentinel, wearing the decorated shoulder pauldrons and tassle of someone of rank, though not within the Sentinel Army. "We've tried to be reasonable in our request for information; it would be most unwise to tempt fate so rashly." Her voice was cold like that of most sentinels, though there was a haughty acrimony present as well. She sneered as she looked down her nose at her captives, appearing quite proud and self-assured.

The orc, however, was dismissively defiant, and though his voice was soft his audacity even gave the letter forgers pause. "Wait a minute…you're seriously trying to threaten an orc with death? And death for a cause I believe in?" Both voice and eyebrow raised questioningly, the Horde messenger seemed legitimately perplexed by the proposition and even his Alliance counterpart snorted a laugh through her nose. "Have you ever actually _met_ one of us?" the orc asked incredulously.

All eyes were trained on the apparent captain with evergreen hair. Her sneer shifted from arrogant to contemptuous in such an intense way that the subtle difference between the two descriptions became clear. Shifting her weight with an audible creak of the leather and plate she was wearing, the captain gazed upon the defiant messenger as though he was wasting her time merely by existing in the same general vicinity as her excellency. Taking a deep breath, she finally lifted her eyes from his direction to signal to one of the sentinels behind him.

"End him," the captain ordered with a flick of two fingers.

Using only a slight movement of her glaive, one of the sentinels behind the messengers sliced clean through the orc's neck. For a few seconds he remained kneeling, his severed head perfectly balanced atop his neck. His face betrayed no regret as his head finally tumbled over, and even though his body slumped after it his corpse didn't appear tense. In a final act of recalcitrance, his slumping forward revealed that he had been shooting the bird with his bound hands behind his back. Even after death, his middle fingers stayed raised and the Alliance messenger laughed out loud.

Bending over slightly, the captain crooked her head to stare at the aged human curiously. "Are you prepared to follow his path?" the elf captain asked the human messenger.

Two shrewd hazel eyes glared up from behind grey bangs, betraying absolutely no fear. "Your plan is ridiculous," the Alliance messenger stated just as defiantly, calm even after seeing her fellow diplomat slain a few feet away from her. She displayed no desire at all to actually engage the captain in a battle of threats and ignored the question entirely. "The world is moving toward a more realistic peace based on war fatigue. Our deaths will cause anger on both sides. But they will not spark anything more than local skirmishes."

The guild captain mostly retained her stoic composure but some real anger did break through the cracks as she arched her long eyebrows slightly. Forcing a grin which she may have thought looked certain but came off as more spiteful, she bared her fangs as she spoke.

"Step by step, this fragile peace you think you're building with the Horde will be dismantled," she growled in a low tone. "Very soon, every capitol on Azeroth will know that even a mere exchange of written guarantees for this supposed mutual pullout from Warsong Gulch - a brief changing of letters - ended in bloodshed. The whole world will lose hope in the possibility-"

"Your breath smells like decomposing eggs and sour dough bread and that makes it really difficult to focus when you're talking."

:: _CLACK_ ::

The empty inkwell falling to the cave floor only made the silence more deafening. Not only did the human show no fear but she had insulted the guild's leader with the best poker face that side of Kalimdor. There was no laughter from the messenger's direction, but she was obviously aware of the shockwave she'd ripped through the makeshift base. The previously enraptured letter forgers hastily turned back to their work but with their ears pricked up to hear what would come next.

The captain grit her teeth so hard it must have hurt. "You...insolent...presumptuous-"

"Do it if you're serious; I'm ready to join my colleague here," the human Alliance envoy snapped as she nodded her head toward the orc Horde envoy. "And I'm quite weary from your insecure grandstanding. And another thing-"

" **Mrrraaaa**!" the captain screeched as she ripped the sword from one of her underlings' hand so roughly that the recruit's leather glove tore.

"Ack!" the guild recruit yelped as she jumped out of the way, surrendering her own weapon in order to dodge her raging commander.

In one fell swipe, the captain decapitated the human with an even cleaner cut than the orc had received. A straight line of blood splattered against the ground diagonally from the cut. Not sufficed by the summary execution, the captain proceeded to maim both corpses until all the hacking no longer made a difference. Her guild mates appeared scared save a fanatical few who grinned with delight.

The silver haired hippogriff rider in particular became so excited that her nose started to whistle and wheeze whenever she exhaled. Once the captain had calmed down, the rider approached and bowed again respectfully. The captain remained still, but her ears rotated to better listen to what the silverhead had to report.

"Captain Gwynneth, the targets approach," the rider stated gleefully.

Gwynneth brushed her evergreen hair back as an unnerving calm overtook her. "Good...good."

"I've come to learn that they will remain st Raynewood Retreat for a few days, at which point they will need to return to the mountain waystation in the northern Barrens." The rider stood at attention, working to contain her joy at the glad tidings she brought. "The couple earned the respect of many in western Nightsong Woods. People are actually starting to speak with respect for this...interracial couple. That their example supposedly signals a warming of cross-factional ties."

Defying all physics and logic, Gwynneth's sneer somehow became even more pronounced. "So everyone is delighted at our ancient sister who broke some supposed barrier by bringing a husband from the Horde right into our midst."

"Our people have lost their way, Captain," the rider lamented. "They are in need of us to correct them!"

"Soon, my sisters and brothers. Soon." The anger left Gwynneth's voice, and now there was a true sense of confidence there. "We will find them. We will cut them to pieces. And when the people find his body impaled with her lance and her neck snapped as though he throttled her, they will see. They will see what folly it was that led them to think this new peace could ever have been possible."

Several outrunners for the guild assembled at another wave of Gwynneth's hand, arming themselves and running outside to a duo of glaive throwing seige engines hidden between the trees. Folding her arms behind her back again, the rogue captain inhaled the early morning air, shutting her eyes tight as she reveled in the coming seeds of discord she would sow.

For a few seconds, she felt content to just go for a stroll on one side of the room before remembering the memento she'd held on to for so long. Reaching into her belt pouch, she fiddled gingerly with her fingers until she was able to grip something small and metallic. A shiny disc was her prize, the medallion containing a hole for a necklace that had long since been lost. But such an accessory was not what interested her; oh, no no.

Twirling the medallion around, she ran her thumb over the emblem of the Silvering Sentinels. The medal of valor was a bit faded due to not being chemically treated, though the name 'Isurith Swiftfoot' was still clearly imprinted on the silver. The medal had been a nearly forgotten piece of her collection ever since she'd tracked it down to Theramore before that city's destruction. But as her grander plans finally came to fruition, there was no possible way for Gwynneth to forget.

She spoke under her breath, addressing her main target and sacrificial lamb rhetorically while her underlings continued to prepare themselves.

"It's time to become reacquainted, Isurith."


	35. Tally Ho!

:: _RING_ ::

"More of them are here!" Irien beamed as another guest rang the string on a bell hanging outside the door of the duplex.

Hooves clopped on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, followed by the echoes of a heavy wooden object on the counter. "Not of the drinkings enough!" Anushka whined as she tried to juice more oranges in the kitchen.

"Ye go on ahead and get the door, I'll make sure the couch stays warm!" Vegnus, the dwarven bard-slash-postal worker who had been working with Cecilia and Irien since before Draenor, cackled as he refused to lift a finger to help.

Irien had spent nearly a month and a half without her two best friends and surrogate family - her only semblance of family, really, other than uncle Geldor and aunt Ralo'shan. They had done their best to stay in touch, she had to admit. Khujand usually wrote the letters and typical of his rambling style, they were long and full of more mundane details than she really needed. In any other situation Irien would mock him, but considering the danger they'd been in, she was grateful for her overanalytical surrogate brother's long winded nature.

The latter half of their foray into Durotar had been the most harrowing for her. After writing from Razor Hill, it took nearly another week before Irien received the next letter - written from the Crossroads. They had last left off before the final assault on Garot'jin's drug lab, and when she didn't hear from them again, Irien began spending many of her waking hours on the rooftop of Yaromira's villa, holding her own personal vigil as she waited out the saboteurs that eventually came. Once they did write, her spirits weren't particularly lifted due to agitation by rogue factions near the Barrens-Ashenvale border. Only when she received the news of Keeper Ordanus' pardon and granting of passage to the couple through Kaldorei lands did Irien finally relax, safe in the knowledge that the two people who she'd become co-dependant on were protected.

That didn't solve the practical problems of living alone, though. Irien had never lived alone before, not during the entirety of her one thousand and five years of life. During the Long Vigil, she lived with her mother much of the time as they patrolled the coast of Darkshore for potential invaders who never came. Eventually she moved in to a ranger academy in Auberdine, living in the barracks with other recruits. After flunking out, she returned to her mother's treehouse to live in shame. When her father returned to the family from the Emerald Dream after the Third War, the house became even more crowded and the shaming by the rest of her family in place of the expected support became unbearable. Even when she ran away, it was only to a Steamwheedle Cartel passenger ship at the port, and she shared a bunk with several other women. Just like Cecilia back at Booty Bay but on a shorter scale, Irien found herself living alone for the first time in her life when her mentor and role model took Khujand for a continental tour. It wasn't just the cooking and cleaning that got to her; Irien had carefully built her life around having the odd couple around her all the time. They were her confidantes, her advisers, her business partners, her housemates and the support group she never had back at home in Darkshore.

Not that Anushka wasn't fun to be around. The inane draenei constantly seeking attention was the perfect clingy, homebound friend for someone experiencing separation anxiety like Irien was. She helped out by doing housework without being asked, helped distract Allison so Irien could sneak away from work when needed and stayed awake on those mornings when Irien just couldn't get to sleep. That their work schedules (as well as Vegnus') matched up ensured that the sharpshooter was never alone. While that certainly did help her to feel better, it wasn't quite the same as having the other two members of the weird living arrangement present.

Which led, of course, to the small dinner they'd planned me that Vegnus had termed 'Irien's Pity Party.'

Peeking through the peephole, Irien spied four people - the outlines of a draenei couple and a worgen couple - waiting outside with hands full of containers and plates for the potluck dinner. Swinging the door open, Irien had to work to contain herself when greeting the more subdued members of her group of friends.

"You're early!" Irien cheered as she embraced Elizra, the worgen medical worker under the employ of the Steamwheedle security forces and the closest one to the door.

Elizra shoved the rest of the plates into her husband Tyron's hands at the last second before Irien grabbed her. "Well, we don't do the whole fashionably late thing," the medic laughed while being dragged inside.

Tyron, the only non-goblin bruiser in Ratchet, allowed Kiul to take some more of the food off his hands. He had apparently just clocked out of work as he hadn't even removed his light armor, and the heavy mace he used for breaking up brawls was still attached to his belt. "The cartel has us all used to living by the clock," he said with a haggard yet somehow still cheery tone in his voice. "You actually couldn't have chosen a better night; a drunken crew from Fuselight rammed their boat into one of the docks and we had a hell of a time keeping all the gawkers away."

The entire chattering group entered the house and wiped their feet and hooves on the mat in the anteroom - a habit common in any household whose occupants often didn't wear shoes. Just as their voices began to echo, Vegnus leapt from the couch in the shared gathering room across the hall and fiddled with all the utensils set up on a long table in order to look like he'd actually done some work. He had already shifted the plates around by the time the five made it to the room.

"Oh, nice te see ye all arrived so early!" Vegnus faked as he pretended to be surprised. "We've all been preparing things - especially me - but we managed te get ready just in time!"

Irien only rolled her eyes as the others greeted the dwarven bard and set their food items on the table. In any other situation she would have called him out in front of everybody, but in this case she let it slide. After all, the party had been his idea and Irien was just happy to have more people around. Before she even had time to take a subtle shot nobody else would have understood, the bell at the front rang again.

:: _RING_ ::

"I forgot how to juicings!" Anushka yelped from the kitchen as an exaggerated, unnecessary panic broke through in her voice.

"I'll get it again, Vegnus; I'm sure the couch still needs to be warmed," Irien quipped as she returned to the front door. If the others noticed the barb then they didn't let it be known, though Vegnus did shoot her the embarrassed smile he'd flash whenever he had been caught in some sort of proverbial act.

Down the hall she bounded, literally bouncing on her toes in excitement for the last few steps. The thought of having most of their social circle over had Irien giddy and gleeful, and she finally began to forget her aching feeling of not having the rest of her household around. Swinging the door open, Irien was faced with a masked humanoid covered in fine fabrics from head to toe, Xyran, Xyran's nervous looking accountant cousin and half a dozen goblin women she had never seen before. Everyone was carrying at least one food item for the potluck save Xyran's cousin; ever the cheapskate, he had insisted on bringing a stack of cups instead.

"Party's arrived!" Xyran beamed in a manner which was, for him, unusually cheery.

"Oh - you weren't kidding when you said you'd bring extra food!" Irien said while scanning the gaggle of goblins carrying various fried dishes through the doorway. Turning to the masked, fur clad man with expressive, lively eyes, Irien was taken aback by the bowl of boiled asparagus he carried.

The well-dressed man seemed to notice and let out a little chuckle. "Well, I may no longer eat due to my condition," said Valmar, now the only full-time warrior trainer in Ratchet and one of the most appearance-conscious Forsaken undead that side of Kalimdor. "But I can always contribute something for everyone else."

Once Irien had gotten over her discomfort around the undead - most night elves would never consider adopting one as a close friend - she actually found Valmar's case sympathetic. Not only could he not sleep - Irien's own second favorite passtime after shooting people in the face - but he also couldn't eat or drink. That he retained such a sharp sense of smell made his condition torture for sure.

"The asparagus smells nice for asparagus!" Irien chortled while trying to figure out what to tell the man in consolation. Just then, she remembered his frequent foil and debate partner, the only naga resident in Ratchet and one of the few non-hostile members of his race. "Is Ghorlash coming?"

Carefully removing his boots so as to leave his thick socks undisturbed - Valmar never allowed anyone to catch a glimpse of what he looked like under his mask and all the silks and furs - the undead sighed despite not needing to breathe. "Apparently, he and his wife take turns sitting on their eggs," he said, and Irien assumed that even one as polite as Valmar had difficulty keeping a straight face.

"You're kidding...well...I guess it makes sense considering their biology," she said while trying not to laugh.

"Right. So the old snake said he would try to stop by to say hello and bring a plate back for Serpentra, but he didn't want to stay too long lest he leave her high and dry." As if he didn't realize what he'd said, Valmar went silent and didn't finally laugh out loud until Irien did.

Though a few more locals had yet to arrive, the fourteen in the sitting room plus herself and Anushka were more than enough to keep Irien company. The gaggle of goblins had already begun schmoozing with the much larger guests around the food table as Irien led Valmar behind them, stopping briefly to remark on his choice in clothing for the evening. The Forsaken could give Anushka a run for her money in terms of dressing for an occasion, though he had a much smarter fashion sense. Speaking of which, Irien had begun wondering if the perennially overdressed draenei was faring well with her battle against the juicer in the kitchen.

She didn't have to wonder for long.

"Helpings!" Anushka yelped from the kitchen.

Valmar shot Irien a knowing look. "Perhaps I'll join the others," he said after some hesitation. "It seems Anushka may be in need of your assistance."

"Indeed it does!" Irien replied, trying to mimic the undead warrior-scholar's method of speaking.

When she entered the kitchen, Irien just barely avoided stepping in a flood of orange juice.

"Anushka, what happened!" she cried out as she gazed upon the aftermath of a citrus tsunami which must have swept the kitchen.

The entire countertop and much of the floor was covered in the juice and pulp of locally grown central Kalimdor oranges, and a few peels were lying scattered around as well. The kitchen table had been overturned in whatever melee had taken place, if only to add to the nonsensical mess in the center of the room. Somehow, some way, Anushka's imported, baggy-sleeved floral patterned dress appeared to be soaked in the juice of about half the original oranges, while the three pitchers rolling around on the floor were oddly spotless.

Although Irien was usually the level headed one to always crack jokes as a coping mechanism, in such situation she couldn't prevent her jaw from slacking open. Of course, she would never ever be upset at the port's favorite spaz for being a spaz, but in this case a bit of shock was deserved.

"Anushka...what...how?"

"The orangings!" she stammered nervously, as if she'd done something wrong. "Not to be fault my own!" Her syntactical accuracy when speaking Common seemed to decrease even more when under duress, and she sputtered out a few more sentences so disjointed that Irien couldn't even remember them a few seconds later.

Attempting to both calm herself and the overreacting drama queen in front of her, Irien reached out with both hands. "Everything is fine-"

"Aaiiieee, please to be no blamings!" Anushka cried as she ran behind the curtain covering the kitchen window, soaking it with orange juice from her dress in the process.

"Ack! Wait! The juice from your dress will stain the curtains!" Irien began tugging the curtain away, which only made the perturbed draenei panic.

"I am to sorry!" Anushka howled from behind the curtain for no good reason as she spun in a circle in an attempt to avoid Irien grabbing her. She became entangled in the fabric, which seemed to make her panic more as she looked like a scared housecat with its head stuck in a small space. "Helpings!"

"Hold still, you're making it worse!" Irien ordered in vain as she tried to keep Anushka standing up.

After a final slide of her hooves, Anushka tripped and pulled the curtain down with her. It had only been held onto a support bar with clothespins anyway and came detached rather easily, leaving the spaz wrapped up with all but her hooves and ankles poking out. Like a gigantic blue pizza roll, she barreled straight into a pool of crushed orange pulp and Irien could do nothing but step back to avoid being splashed, leaving Anushka in a soggy, panting, unseen heap.

"Apologings," she whimpered, unashamed once her face had been hidden. "I has a fail."

Irien sighed as she gazed at the embarrassed and embarrassing heap at her feet. "It's okay, Anushka," she tried to say as soothingly as possible. "One of the neighbors has a kid who works as a runner. We can send him for more juice."

The curtain bobbed up and down as though Anushka were shaking her head. "What will I have to wearings," she whined.

Before even asking, Irien squatted in front of her spastic friend, cradled the wrapped up curtain and threw Anushka over her shoulder like a soggy sack of oranges. "Come on upstairs," she muttered, stifling her own voice to avoid laughing. "We're the same size, you can wear that gaudy green dress that I've never actually put on."

Up the stairs they went; Irien could relax knowing that Vegnus could do more than enough talking to keep the others preoccupied while she fought what was likely to be a battle to get Anushka to towel herself briefly and wear an outfit just a little less flashy than she was used to at a party.

As the party wound up, Irien bid the last of the goblin revelers goodbye at the door save Xyran, who was never the first to leave. Even though she never learned the names of the goblin ladies from the local paper pushers' union or the nervous accountant cousin, they'd been a joy to have around and had dominated the conversation with their joking and unnecessarily loud laughter. By the time they had left several hours later, most everyone else were nearly experiencing abdominal cramps from all the cackling at the outlandish behavior of the short greenskins, and that was what they were like when sober - Cecilia saw no difference between alcohol and drugs and banned it all from the house. Had she not done so, Irien imaged the goblins would have practically killed everyone with laughs.

Once Irien reentered the sitting room, she found everyone relaxing into the chairs, including the extra ones Sonja and her human husband, Erikur, had brought with them while she'd been forcibly washing Anushka's hair upstairs. As always, Erikur looked as though he hadn't slept enough, though he also seemed grateful to have his two unbelievably energetic half-human, half-troll children occupied with Anushka's similar maturity level. The single draenei female had refused the gaudy green dress and opted for a suit of Irien's mail armor instead, and the three balls of energy who all seemed to possess the same sense of humor busied themselves out on the front lawn.

All was well, save for the absence of two guests who had never made it - until Irien heard the sound of Sonja and Erikur's children creating a ruckus out front.

"Sounds like a certain scaly and furry duo have arrived," she quipped, though at that point everyone else was too exhausted to laugh any more.

Rising and making her way to the anteroom, Irien breathed deeply as she marveled at how quickly the stress of being alone had left her once her friends surrounded her. Obviously she wouldn't be able to have everyone over like this every day; the cleanup in and of itself would punish her, Anushka and - so help her Goddess - Vegnus over the weekend. But for that night, Irien was reminded of how truly lucky she was. Only a decade ago, she'd barely been considered responsible enough to venture outside of Auberdine on her own. Night elves typically considered themselves adults around the age of a hundred and ten years, and Irien was more than a thousand, but her family members were particularly controlling. That stifling environment, coupled with the fact that she had failed to pass any trials for any sort of class or profession at all, meant that she had always been viewed as forever irresponsible and in need of being kept at home. She'd ran away on a goblin ship and never looked back confident that she couldn't return home but knowing nothing of what the future could hold.

She could have ended up like Cecilia, but unlike the ancient huntress, Irien may not have made it through the horrors of Booty Bay's eastside. All things considered, Irien couldn't have asked for more: property in a busy port she coowned with two best friends who would do anything for her, stable work with the least morally ambiguous of the neutral cartels and a circle of friends who respected her and appreciated her company.

Perhaps she had allowed herself to become a little too comfortable - as she was reminded when facdd with the 'something is wrong' cackle of Meatball, everyone's favorite gnoll enforcer.

"You guys made it!" Irien nearly chirped as she opened the door to find Meatball and Ghorlash standing before her.

Ghorlash remained outside due to the odd dimensions of his body which prevented him from entering most normal doorways. Flapping his webbed ears, he waited patiently on the front lawn as Anushka and the two kids tried to play one-sided jump rope with his tail. Even on Ghorlash's reptilian face, however, the concern was apparent.

"We have, Miss Rainsong," the massive myrmidon said with his unnaturally echoing voice. "Though we do not bear good news."

She tilted her head to the side as Meatball offered her a letter from Khujand. "What is it this time?" Irien asked with a concerned tone.

Taking the letter from the strangely quiet gnoll, Irien began reading. It mostly seemed to discuss the end of their late, extended visit to Astranaar, their plans to visit there more regularly in the future and their intention to stop at Raynewood Retreat on the way back. Nothing appeared out of order other than the fact that by the time Cecilia and Khujand arrived at home, they would have been gone for nearly two months.

She looked up at Meatball quizically, not understanding the problem. "CHECK THE DATE," he suggested with the specific cackle he used when saying something ominous.

Irien did as he asked, noticing the postage marks at Astranaar, then the neutral north Barrens waystation, then the Crossroads, then Ratchet. Examining the dates a bit more closely, she began to realize what her friends were trying to warn her about.

Her eyes snapped up. "Ghorlash, wait here!" Irien hushed as she ran inside with Meatball.

Inside the sitting room, a sort of lull had settled over everyone else. It was the sort of quiet, intermittent banter at the end of a party when everyone was out of energy but nobody wanted to be the first person to go home. Much of that weariness melted away when Irien burst into the room, looking to her friends for guidance. All eyes were suddenly on her as the gears were turning in her head.

"Yara, Vegnus...Cici and Khuj were supposed to have left Astranaar four days ago, if it took five for the letter to arrive here from there," Irien spoke at a million miles a minute.

Sensing the urgency, Yaromira sat up, flipping into manager mode. "The postal route from there to here is stable and will always take five days," the married draenei female said in her professional, slightly know-it-all voice.

"If they remained at Raynewood for two days, then that means it's been more than a day since they've left, right?" Irien asked, a fear settling in to her voice which Vegnus seemed to pick up on.

"We don't know how many days they mey have steyed," he said cautiously. "What's this all about?"

"If they wrote to us from there, it wouldn't have arrived yet, would it?" Irien asked again.

"Not possible," Yaromira answered. She appeared concerned as well but was patient with Irien's line of questioning. "It would still take four days from Raynewood and three days from the waystation." Already, she was following Irien's reasoning.

Valmar leaned forward in his chair. "That meeting of Warsong Outrider veterans at the Crossroads dragged on and fanned out," one of the only two fully-fledged members of the Horde in their social circle reasoned. "They're all over the villages of the northern Barrens."

Elizra caught on next. "That rogue faction from the Silverwing Sentinels has formed a guild and is reportedly harassing both factions in the area," the worgen woman murmured as her husband's ears flattened back against his head.

Kiul stood up with a sigh. "They both left those organizations on poor terms," the draenei male explained to a confused looking Tyron. "And now there's a breakaway group of sentinels stoking the flames of conflict around the Mor'shan Rampart-"

"Right where Cici and Khuj will be flying!" Irien gasped. "For sure they'll assume Warsong Gulch would see the worst of the fighting and would take a more easternly route, looping around before the waystation! They'll by flying directly over the most likely spot for conflict to erupt between the two sides!"

Everyone in the room stood up just as Anushka entered with the two children, and Sonja ruffled her kids' hair as she thought out loud. "If they already left Raynewood, there be no way ta warn them."

Silence fell over the room as it slowly dawned on everyone, save the two children, what had to be done.

Sticking his scaly head and neck through the window, Ghorlash butted in. "All of us - every one of us here - forged new lives for ourselves in this city with their support," the naga echoed through the entire duplex. "We owe Miss and Mister Hearthglen much for what we now have."

"Then there's only one thing we can do," Xyran sighed, "if we can't warn them in time."

"I've got a bad feeling," Tyron growled. "It takes an entire day and more to fly to the waystation. The Crossroads is still factional; we have to skip-"

"Not while I'm with you all," Valmar stated with more fervor than Irien was used to hearing him speak with. "We'll fly right through the Crossroads and land right in the middle of Mor'shan."

"You can't be serious!" Tyron protested.

"Dead serious and no pun intended," the undead countered. "Time is of the essence; I will make the Horde authorities understand whether they want to or not."

"He's right; we don't have time! Cici and Khuj are flying right into the belly of the beast!" Irien was as frantic as she was insistent, already doing her arm waving thing. "We need a plan, and fast - every second counts!"

Sonja had been turning around when Irien noticed that her husband had disappeared. Just then the door burst open, and not only did Erikur look haggard but also winded from apparently running to their home and back. Ever since his sister had died in the Plaguelands, the human had become withdrawn and brooding. Wielding the steam powered rivet gun he used when working with Ghorlash at the ship repair yard - Ratchet had the largest and most advanced of such docks on Azeroth - Erikur appeared ready to commit murder for the sake of his friends. A look of darkness spread on his face even made his huge naga coworker uneasy and he might have even given pause to Cecilia and Khujand themselves. Before he spoke, Sonja signaled for their kids to cover their ears.

"We will fly right into Mor'shan and march," he muttered in a barely audible voice. Despite being more than half a foot shorter than everyone in the room save his own children and Xyran, Erikur appeared more determined than everyone, even Irien herself. "Let all who prevent us from protecting our friends die as painfully as possible."

A second wave of silence washed over the room as the full extent of the seriousness at hand was laid bare. Eyes darted around like the calm before the storm. Taking the lead as manager, Yaromira clapped her hands twice.

"Let's get to work!"

Chaos ensued as every single person, the half-troll half-human children included, scattered in different directions. People were shoving aside chairs and tables, either running to the Hearthglen armory in the basement or returning to their own homes to grab whatever armaments they needed. Shouts and orders were tossed around as everyone fought through the confusion to find their role.

"We can watch the kids!" Kiul said to Sonja as the Darkspear woman appeared lost at first.

"Oh...right! Erikur, I'll see tha little ones off ta Yara and Kiul's place," Sonja shouted a little louder than necessary as she took the two squirming children in her arms. "My daggers and leathers are at home!" He had already shouldered his rivet gun and exited before she finished her sentence.

"I can organize around the clock security detail for your, Irien's and the Brents' houses while everyone is gone," Xyran said to Sonja just before she left.

"We owe ya one!"

"Never thought I'd say this to anybody, but you actually don't this time," Xyran said as he ducked under Valmar, who was likely rushing home for his rapier.

Tyron looked to Xyran, who was one of the highest ranking bruisers in Ratchet. "I have duty tomorrow-"

"Are you kidding? I'll have you covered." The diminutive goblin was by far the most relaxed among the group, even more so than Yaromira. "This is the only day I'm doing favors aside from whenever my daughter has her wedding; if you're going to ask for something, ask now!"

"We'll spot you for her trousseau later," Elizra joked, though the way Xyran nodded as he narrowly got out of the way of the draenei couple insinuated that he would probably take them up on it, though that was neither here nor there for the moment.

Xyran, Meatball and an unusually speechless Vegnus all filed out of the duplex, everyone stopping briefly as Irien shouted out the window loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. "Everybody meet at the flight point in half an hour!" she commanded like a boss. "I'll reserve every wyvern, hippogriff and gryphon they have!"

Just as she turned to leave, she was faced with Anushka. The spastic draenei was tightening the belt around Irien's mail armor with a very stern look on her face. Irien blinked a few times when she realized what Anushka was trying to do.

"Anushka...Xyran could use help watching all the houses-"

"I'm goings!" she insisted with far more power in her voice than Irien had ever thought possible.

"Anushka, listen to me...this isn't an adventure. This isn't a quest. We're looking at a small-scale battle here."

"Cici and Kunjad my friendships too!" she retorted with such emotion that her voice cracked. "I know what you sayings! I know the people make jokings on me! But this is the time! This is final countdown, and all of us must there to be for them! I am goings, Irien, I must to goings!"

Her seriousness was touching. While Yaromira was hundreds of years old and Kiul was thousands, everyone suspected that Anushka was barely out of her teens. It was hard to tell and she always dodged such personal questions. Everyone loved her as a sort of bumbling clutz, and it was generally understood that she wasn't allowed on the local bounty quests the residents often called on Irien, Cecilia and Khujand for in times of need. Yet standing in front of her there, Irien felt an assertiveness emanating from Anushka that not only meant she wouldn't take no for an answer; it likely meant she just might be ready for her first experience with how rough the world could be. It was worrying and endearing at the same time.

"Alright," Irien sighed, acquiescing. "But stay close to me."

This time, Anushka didn't rush forward to hug Irien giddily. She didn't jump up and down and cheer. She only stood up straight and saluted, and for once, Irien didn't feel like laughing at her attempt to be serious.

Snatching one of her many spare rifles - in particular, one hidden underneath the main couch in the sitting room - Irien led Anushka out the front door. To her delight, Ghorlash was still there, having hung back even after everyone else left for last minute preparations.

"I asked Vegnus to inform Serpentra that she'll need to sit on the eggs herself a little longer," he droned. "I swear she's going to have my - hey, what - ack!"

Yanking on his tail and back spines as though they were handles, Irien and Anushka both leapt up on top of the sea monster from a thousand fathoms. His broad shoulders, slightly hunched back and long neck almost provided a sort of natural platform for them to ride. He did not appear to appreciate his role as surrogate mount.

"My coatl is already available at the flight point," he grumbled, though he hadn't shoved the two women of while he slithered to the new ground-and-air-mount stable complex on the bluffs overlooking the city. "Plus, there should be enough flying mounts for all of you anyway."

Filled with purpose, determination and familial concern for Cecilia and Khujand, Irien ignored Ghorlash's complaints entirely. She clicked her heels against both sides of his neck as they rode, eliciting an indignant hiss from his nostrils.

"Tally hooooo!" Irien yelled across town, pointing with her rifle up the winding road leading to the flight point in spite of regulations about brandishing weapons within city limits. "One way or another, we're bringing our friends home!"


	36. One Last Retreat

**Beginning of their arc.**

Cecilia laughed across the wind as it whipped through their ears. Clicking her heels, she spurred her hippogriff on a bit faster, always sure to keep a good amount of distance between herself and Khujand.

"Don't leave me too far behind, girl!" her husband shouted from behind her.

"That's what you're supposed to do when racing!" she shouted back.

Truthfully, she was more concerned over the possibility of collision than anything else. Over the month and a half they'd spent in Ashenvale, his flight skills had improved dramatically. Perhaps it was a combination of their long lifespans, natural patience and cautious natures, but Cecilia began to feel like perhaps elves were just slow learners compared to other races. She had spent a good two hundred years learning to fly properly, and it wasn't even her primary specialty in battle. Similar to the goblins she'd spent a few years working with in the cartel, her husband appeared to pick up manual skills at a more rapid rate than what she observed in her former sentinel comrades.

Reminding herself to stop focusing so much on the age difference between her people and all others and just live in the moment, Cecilia slowed her mount momentarily to fly side by side with Khujand. "I can see the aerial patrols of Raynewood now," she said while pointing toward four other hippogriff riders soaring in nearly mile wide circles around the clearing over the horizon. "We're almost there."

"Finally!" he said in the closest sound his vocal chords could make that could be described to a chirp. "It's almost morning; I feel like I'm becomin' bow legged!"

They soared, and far over the horizon the beginnings of the Raynewood infantry drill yard could be seen. Gazing upon the organized formations both with nostalgia for her former profession as well as relief that she no longer had obligations beyond friends and family, Cecilia kept an even speed as they approached.

"Hopefully, you'll receive a warmer reception this time!" she tried to chuckle across the wind, though a sudden updraft shot air up her nose and she winced at the end of her sentence.

Above the canopy on their own hippogriffs, patrolwomen of the Sentinel Air Force shot Cecilia the hand signal notifying them that all was clear for them to land, and the couple started to wind downward toward the flight point. Before they had even landed, Shael'dryn and the rest of the Laughing Sisters had formed a giddy green herd waiting on their arrival. One moment later and the not so odd couple touched down on the raised flight point platform, skidding to a stop as a few of the younger recruits assisted the guests with their travel bags. A dozen dryads galloped up to them, not going so far as to touch them like last time but they stood far closer than was proper for Kaldorei social norms.

As always, Shael'dryn was firing off questions before either Cecilia or Khujand could formulate responses.

"Have you been flying?" she asked nonsensically.

"Did you visit the House of Edune?" asked another.

"How did you find our homeland, Hearthglen husband?" a third asked Khujand.

"When are you leaving?" asked another dryad Cecilia couldn't see, her tone sincere as though she hadn't just broken every rule of being a host in Kaldorei mores.

"Ah, the great outdoors," one of the hooved forest nymphs beamed at nobody in particular.

Overwhelmed, Cecilia and Khujand both tried to field the questions the best they could as the new recruits disappeared into the crowd, carrying the travel bags to the same partially underground hovel beneath a hollowed out tree they'd stayed at last time. As if to save them from the barrage, Commander Frostshadow politely nudged her way to the front of the crowd.

"Ishnu alah, guests," Melyria greeted with a bow. "It seems the two of you have made quite the impression."

Cecilia returned the bow and chuckled when she noticed her husband doing the same; the dryads erupted into raucous laughter. "Ishnu dal dieb, Commander. We're always happy for the receptions we receive here."

"Well…prepare yourselves, then," Melyria sighed as though she were about to deliver difficult news. "Keeper Ordanus heard of your approach from our aerial sentinels and requested your presence in the command tower."

Noticing Melyria's hesitation, Cecilia cocked her head to the side. "You mean…now?"

"Yes…as in, now now," Melyria replied with an apologetic grin.

"I thought everybody is on a nocturnal schedule here," Khujand asked.

"We are, technically, but not the Keeper or the rest of us up the chain of command." Melyria almost appeared tired merely from explaining the schedule. "Raynewood Retreat is the administrative seat of an oversized province of Ashenvale. We're responsible for all troop movements in the whole region as well as all policing outside of city limits. Additionally, we have to coordinate troop rotations with other provinces."

"Never a moment's rest in a martial society," Cecilia sighed herself, once again relieved that her own servitude to nature had been completed.

Melyria's eyes fell to the ground for a split second, only to snap back up at another wave of questions from the dryads. "Yes, it would seem - alright, they're here, they won't be leaving right away!" the commander remarked to the herd with a huff. "It would seem that work is…never finished."

Cecilia placed a hand on Melyria's shoulder, guiding her out in front of the group as Khujand answered questions from the Laughing Sisters about the color of the grass west of Nightsong Forest (it was still green) and if they enjoyed 'that one place near the other place' in Astranaar. "Perhaps another meeting with the Keeper will provide a necessary reprieve from the hustle and bustle down here," the retired sentinel said to the active sentinel.

Sighing and nodding, Melyria led the entire group across camp and toward the three storey command center in the largest of the hollowed out trees at the Retreat. As she sensed the weariness in Melyria's eyes and voice, Cecilia stayed close to the commander and said very little on the slow walk uphill, granting her junior a silence that was sorely needed for sure. Khujand held an even slower pace as he kept Shael'dryn and her associates busy with answers as inane as their questions a few paces behind, never seeming to grow tired of the routine interrogation about the most mundane her husband garnered a few looks from the surrounding troops, Cecilia was relieved when she noticed that most of those looks were either nonchalant or only mildly curious, and a great number of her fellow night elves didn't seem to pay any mind at all. Perhaps society was beginning to tolerate, if not entirely accept, the thought of interracial marriages after opening up to the brave new world. It had only been about a month ago when half of the camp leapt up in arms at the sight of a jungle troll possessing a voodoo-induced glow in his eyes; now, everyone went about business as usual and Cecilia even received a congenial nod from the scarred older sentinel she'd had a discussion in the canteen tent with during their initial stay.

Undeterred and almost unnoticed, the small entourage made their way up the tower ramp and into the hall of the third floor itself, reaching the same meeting room where they'd sought quarter a month before. To think that they'd been so unsure of the potential result of their appeal seemed so distant at that point. Although he was still flanked by a retinue if six sentinels on one side and six druids on the other, the tension that had imbued the previous meeting with Ordanus was absent. The druids almost appeared friendly and the sentinels were, at the minimum, cordial. Unlike the last time, Ordanus did not appear preoccupied with anything in particular as they entered and stood at the ready, palms open, as though he had nothing planned.

"Good morning," the Keeper greeted before anyone else had a chance to speak; even the Laughing Sisters ceased their laughing for a moment. "We are pleased that you've taken the opportunity to visit us again."

"The pleasure is all ours," Cecilia replied while stepping forward and bowing. "Our visit to the holy land would not even be possible without your intercession."

Shael'dryn nudged Khujand forward to stand in between Melyria and Cecilia, and he bowed just as Cecilia finished her answer to their host. Several of the druids smiled as though the foreign troll bowing like a Kaldorei were an incredible sight, though they quickly stood at attention when Melyria shot them a glance.

Either not noticing or pretending not to notice, Ordanus continued his introduction while motioning to someone outside the entryway with his non-wooden hand. "I apologize for the late invitation, but our schedule is so hectic that I feared we'd be unable to host you again before you left. It would be most unfortunate were you to grace the province with your presence without us being able to show proper hospitality."

Just then, several newer recruits carried a few plates of food inside along with sitting cushions. Cecilia's eyes widened as she realized that she and her outlander husband were being invited to share a meal with one of the keepers of the grove. Despite her lack of complete faith in the tales woven by Ordanus' father, she still grasped the significance of what they were being allowed to do. Many faithful night elves would view such a sitting enviously; the gifting of such an occasion to a confessed former member of an enemy faction was almost unheard of, at least for anyone other than the tauren.

That significance did not seem to be entirely lost on Khujand, as Cecilia noticed her husband freeze up slightly in the way he often did when embarrassed and unsure of how to react. Tugging at his wrist, she led him to a woven mat as wide as Ordanus' cushion positioned diagonally from the Keeper, obviously intended for their Darkspear guest.

"Please, the least we could do is offer some of our time and what we collect from the groves in taxes," Ordanus said while motioning to the various platters of nuts, berries, tubers and hunted game. Sitting with their knees bent like deer, the Keeper and the Laughing Sisters rested on cushions while the elves in the room sat cross legged around the long carpet that had been laid out for the food. That morning, it was apparently Shael'dryn's turn to open the meal with a brief prayer, and given the late hour not one of the twenty four people crowded into the hall wasted time as they dug in to the communal dishes.

Speaking when eating wasn't the custom of her people, so when Ordanus occasionally peppered their late dinner with questions, Cecilia knew that the meeting functioned as both hospitality and networking.

"I take it neither the Alliance nor the Horde have much influence in the port city you call home," the Keeper said in between bites of a cucumber he sliced with the claws of his wooden hand. "Is that assessment accurate?"

"It is. Steamwheedle does their best to keep politics out of the little city-state." She scooped a handful of mixed nuts - which she merely viewed as cashews with obstacles - in between sentences. As though he were unsure of what to do, her husband mimicked her every move as they ate, and Cecilia had to stifle a giggle due to the contrast with their august setting.

"So you would describe Ratchet's administration as that of an independent city-state?" Ordanus asked with his interest clear in his voice. Shael'dryn began to eat a little bit more slowly, and the others dryads chatted more intermittently than they had previously.

"Well, sort of," she replied. "The cartel is a business association; all outside ties are based on mutually beneficial relationships. Internally, each Steamwheedle settlement administers itself. Externally, they have never been tested, so it's difficult to gauge how they would deal with potential conflict."

Even Melyria leaned forward while listening, her ears pricked outward in a sign of curiosity. Waggling her long eyebrows at the Keeper to signal her desire to cut in, she began in a much more direct manner. "Sister Hearthglen, I don't think it escapes you that not all are pleased with our subordination to the powers that be in Stormwind," she stated bluntly. In any other situation the other night elves would have fidgeted in discomfort; perhaps due to the more traditional atmosphere of Raynewood Retreat, they all made no secret of their curiosity instead and all eyes were now on the rather open conversation. "As influential as these past ten years since Hyjal have been, the reality is that our membership in the Alliance will only remain for as long as it benefits our people."

"Naturally and unfortunately," Cecilia sighed, although she felt relieved at the ability for such a frank discussion around other night elves.

"Right. What this means is that we have a need to extend our eyes and ears beyond the official channels, including those sanctioned by Darnassus," Melyria said in a flat tone as if to emphasize the last clause of what she said. A few pairs of eyes flickered to Shael'dryn and Ordanus, both of whom stayed silent.

Cecilia grinned wide, honored by the implied request and delighted that others were seeing the folly in the factions. "Our business partner in Ratchet is from Darkshore, and is in frequent contact with my family in Astranaar," she beamed in as low a voice as possible given her excitement. "Whatever we hear from the community there will be passed from them to officer Niorith in Astranaar."

Bizarrely serious, Shael'dryn gave Cecilia a puzzled look, asking the question silently. Noticing the dryad's suspicion, Melyria stepped in.

"She's one of the twenty five originals from Serenity Grove," the Raynewood commander said.

Ordanus snorted his approval through his nose, and Shael'dryn nodded, seemingly satisfied. "May the Goddess preserve our heritage," the dryad said regretfully, touching Cecilia's heart in a way she hadn't expected.

"Amen," she answered, and the whole group hung their heads low for a minute. The fate of her ancestral grove had become, apparently, a well-known tragedy within the province.

Much to Cecilia's surprise, it was her husband that broke the silence, appearing less apprehensive about speaking up in front of a man he himself might have tried to assassinate a decade ago had the opportunity presented itself.

"Have ya considered postin' somebody in tha neutral cities?" Khujand asked generally as his gaze flitted from Ordanus to Melyria.

Once again, Shael'dryn surprised Cecilia with the sudden coherence of her answer. "We have already opened a consulate in Everlook, which raises no eyebrows because Winterspring is rightfully night elf territory," she explained in a rather serious voice. "It would be difficult to do so elsewhere without raising eyebrows."

"Which is why Darnassus hasn't done so as of yet," Melyria added.

Khujand rubbed the back of his neck and Cecilia could tell he was giving the matter serious thought. Her heart fluttered at the sight; not only was her husband displaying such a strong concern for the interests of her people, but he also came up with some rather ingenious solutions.

"What I gather is that these consulates are opened at tha behest of ya national government in Darnassus, and not ya regional government in Winterspring," he mumbled while obliviously munching on blueberries at the same time. No matter how many of her cultural traits he adopted, some things about him never seemed to change, she thought while arching her eyebrows and shooting him a sappy look.

"We are not used to your terminology, but it is analagous to our system," Shael'dryn replied. "Embassies are only opened in places like Exodar or Stormwind. Consulates are opened in smaller factional settlements and select neutral cities, but that is beyond our control here. Our government is, technically, as much a dictatorship as that of the Alliance as a whole. We actually admire the Horde in a way, considering how the common people rose up against Hellscream, and how Vol'jin only took power with the consent of the people whom he rules."

None of the night elves or other dryads protested and Cecilia nearly choked on her quail wings. Of course, she agreed with every last word of what Shael'dryn said, but for such talk to take place openly among her people was unheard of. In fact, Cecilia had almost begun to believe that she and Irien were the only ones to harbor such beliefs. Hearing talk that might be considered treason elsewhere…was actually quite refreshing.

"When I suggested that ya post somebody," Khujand continued in a low tone as though he were telling a secret, "that don't necessarily mean a consulate." He was leaning forward toward the now dead serious Shael'dryn, and all the night elves and dryads in the room - even Cecilia, even Ordanus - leaned in as well.

"What is it that you're suggesting, then?" Melyria asked.

"Look, I don't know tha setup ya got here, what with ya relations ta regional and then national government and all," he started in that low rumble of his. "But surely someone here can rent any office in Ratchet. It doesn't hafta be anythin' official, not even a trade commission. It could be somethin' as simple as an importer and exporter of tha acorn meal ya use ta make ya bread here."

"You're suggesting we open some sort of a front for direct access to current events?" Melyria stated, though her voice did go up in pitch at the end.

Khujand turned to Cecilia as if seeking approval, which was fast in coming. She actually wondered how she hadn't thought of it before. "We know the situation on the ground there, and we can facilitate the rental of such an office in an inconspicuous corner of town," she said, quickly warming to the idea. "We will always be available for passing on information and hosting anyone passing through, but if need be, we can find a secure location tucked away into one of the more neglected side streets. Something that would draw the attention of neither Darnassus nor the Alliance diplomats themselves, and certainly not of the Horde. It could provide more direct access to what's happening and a more discreet means of passing information on to the network of other traditionalists here - we're ready to help set that up all the way."

All eyes were now divided between Shael'dryn, Melyria and Ordanus, the three decision makers. A few of the elves occasionally peeked outside the entryway to make sure that noone else was spying on the conversation. The discontent with the political direction of their people that Cecilia had sensed the first time they stopped at Raynewood was, apparently, much more common than she had initially thought.

Melyria was the first to break the silence. "I know of no such network," she began with a wry smile. "However, we do collect enough acorn meal in taxes to export the excess. The profit could be devoted to more public works here in the province - the perservation of moonwells and lodges, expansion of heritage projects…"

Ordanus stirred, and Cecilia felt the signal that the discussion was finished for the time being. "This is…a matter which will require some deliberation." His posture shifted to a more relaxed one and everyone else in the room returned to their food on cue. "For now, perhaps lighter topics are in order. I'm sure you'll both need to finish eating and get some rest as well," the Keeper said in an uncharacteristically informal tone. Turning toward the visiting couple, he deftly changed the subject. "Tell me, did you have a chance to visit the expanded temple in Astranaar while there?"

Aaa

Cecilia leaned back on the row of benches beside the drill yard, watching with Melyria as the younger recruits practiced disarming one another.

"So many of them seem like they're not a day older than one hundred years," she thought out loud as she stretched her arm out on the backrest behind the long seat.

Melyria sat next to her with an uptight posture, appearing slightly perturbed by having Cecilia's arm around her. Just as Khujand had adopted many elven traits, Ceiclia had adopted many general outlander traits from their circle of friends in Ratchet. She hadn't even realized that the closeness might cause the staunch traditionalist discomfort; feeling contrite, she sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap.

"Yes, um, well…quite a few of them are possibly younger than that nowadays," Melyria replied.

Taking a moment to realize what she had just heard, Cecilia actually choked on some spittle. "Wait…born after the druids returned to the Emerald Dream at the end of the Silithus campaign?"

"That's correct. Which would mean they're not the daughters of sentinels and druids, but of sentinels and den guards...or common merchants...or non-essential tradesmen." Melyria paused for a moment to shout at a particularly bumbling young recruit who kept flinching. "Sorry about that. Anyway, as you know the Army never used to accept anyone under the age of three hundred, but of the fourteen you see here before you, I'd say at least four of them are less than a century old. That bumbling young lass there in particular is barely old enough to enlist even now."

From beneath the awning that covered the benches from potential rainfall, Cecilia scrutinized the trainees. Even the relative youngblood had quite a bit of gusto in her drills and forms which didn't involve her being disarmed, and the scene filled the recent retiree with hope. Seeking reassurance, Cecilia probed her companion's brain figuratively speaking.

"What do you see in the future of our people, Sentinel Frostshadow?" Cecilia asked casually as though it were a simple question. To her, at least, it was.

Melyria was caught off guard momentarily. "The future? What do you..." She furrowed her brow as the intent dawned on her. "Sister Hearthglen, that is a very open question."

"Not necessarily. Just, where do you expect us to be half a century from now?"

Melyria let out a long, drawn out sigh. "I'm almost reluctant to answer such a question, my sister. We dominated the planet for two millennia and then went into hiding for ten. These past ten years, as you know, were just as significant. But if we are members of any other faction for much longer, no longer which one it happens to be, my intuition points toward internal disintegration."

"Sentiments such as those expressed at the meeting hall two mornings ago, however, would be branded as blasphemy against 'Elune's chosen' in many circles." Cecilia was technically beating around the bush, but to no avail.

"That's part of why too much talk can be dangerous for those sharing our views," Melyria replied plainly.

Taking the hint, Cecilia resigned herself to merely observing the drills in the practice yard. The recruits were blossoming, and their energy combined with the lack of focus reminded her of training the handful of younglings that had been born at Serenity during the Vigil whenever the men woke up for war. Whether due to being too relaxed to reminisce or too frazzled to concentrate, Cecilia actually didn't fall into nostalgia mode for once, and found it unusually easy to enjoy her surroundings without pretense.

As if noticing the tranquility, Melyria sat silently for a long time. Aside from shouting the occassional order at the trainees, the commander said little until Cecilia initiated the last exchange.

"I never expected my husband to be received so easily here."

After a few second more of inspecting the trainees' drills, the commander responded without turning toward her. "I'll be honest, the most we would have done would be to just tell him to return to the main road and move along."

"So what was with all the notched arrows, then?" Cecilia asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The situation escalated," Melyria said in a polite but unembarrassed manner. "That wasn't the first time the Laughing Sisters snuck some plan or another by us, but seeing a man we assumed to be Horde in the middle of our camp and with the advantage of elevation startled our youngers."

"Isn't it true that, since Darkspear and Shatterspear druids revealed themselves, you're seeing a lot more non-Horde trolls around here?" Cecilia asked not pointedly but very directly.

Melyria's answer was just as direct. "Your husband obviously isn't a druid, though," she countered. "Some trolls such as their shadow priests and even the druids have glowing eyes, but not red; that only comes from their vodun pratices. Voodoo is technically unsanctioned even by the Horde, his appearance insinuates that he has a history of melee combat, and his clipped tusks insinuate a checkered past." Rotating to face Cecilia and sitting a little closer, Melyria appeared contrite. "I'm sorry-"

"It's alright, Sentinel Frostshadow."

"No, it isn't. My last comment wasn't necessary-"

"It was necessary when you were considering the wellbeing of your troops and your camp, correct?"

Melyria waited a second and pondered the matter silently before answering. "Yes."

Cecilia actually put a hand on Melyria's, which seemed to make the commander visibly uncomfortable though she didn't pull away. If she'd accepted Cecilia marrying an outlander, she could obviously accept that the woman had some outlander behaviors as well. "You made the choices you had to, and we did put you in a difficult situation by entering unannounced to all save Shael'dryn and her merry band. All things considered, you were surprisingly tolerant."

Seemingly reassured, Melyria nodded and relaxed a little, though once Cecilia remembered she was sitting with a rather conservative sentinel, she removed her hand. "Anyway, I suppose there are more trolls around here now, but to be fair I still didn't expect the polite reception this time."

"Well, the situation is as you say. A number of them come through bearing Cenarion Circle insignias and tabards, so we've slowly adjusted to the idea." Melyria smiled to herself shyly and looked away as another point appeared to return to her mind. "Plus...well, you know about the, um...relationship issue," she mumbled.

It took Cecilia a moment to realize what the commander was talking about. "Oh...you mean, the increasing number of interracial marriages?"

"Yes, that. It isn't a lot and most of them tend to hang around Moonglade, but it's slowly becoming accepted. Plus, one of the sisters from your grove stopped by..."

"I heard."

"So you know the gist of it, then," Melyria said before looking shy again. "Her husband is considerably less...domesticated than yours, though, considering that he's Skullsplitter."

"Ack!" Cecilia coughed, leaning forward for a second as she choked on nothing.

"Oh, careful!" Melyria exclaimed. She began patting her open palm on Cecilia's back roughly in order to help her cough up whatever had caught in her throat. With her free hand, Melyria snatched her waterskin and handed it over, assisting Cecilia as she drank huge gulps.

Once the coughing fit had passed, Cecilia wiped her mouth with her forearm and chuckled to herself lightly.

"Shocking news?" Melyria asked.

"Well, they told me when I visited Serenity, and I knew she hadn't been heard from in a while...most of us didn't keep in touch well once the sisters scattered, so it leaves many possibilities...but I guess I hadn't yet considered just how serious this is."

"You're telling me," Melyria sighed, a tired look in her eyes already. "He refused to surrender his weapons when here in the camp until she practically begged him to, plus he never learned Darnassian well...both of them barely spoke the whole time, though. It was weird." Her smile faded quickly in reaction to her own words, and she appeared concerned again. "No, wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Don't apologize, it is weird," Cecilia interrupted with a chuckle. Her voice dropped a bit lower, still loud enough to be heard most likely, but more of a monologue than a comment. "Seriously...what the hell kind of story led to that?" she asked rhetorically.

The two women chortled a short while longer before focusing on the drill yard again. If Melyria knew anything of the story, she didn't want to tell it, and even changed the subject once the two of them relaxed.

"For what it's worth...I'm glad that the two of you came. Relations between our people and the Horde are the best they've been since the Battle of Mount Hyjal, and although your husband is no longer a member of the faction, his race is stereotyped as being a 'Horde race.' Your presence here has been noticed by a number of people - the troops talk, you know."

"So as they perform their patrols throughout the province, they let things slip?" Cecilia asked nonchalantly.

"No, no, it isn't letting things slip. They don't view it as a secret to begin with, and that's the point. Most of us might find your preference odd on a personal level, but on the social and even political level, you've earned the admiration of many people."

"How so?"

"Well, you married an outlander - which is still officially unsanctioned - and basically converted him to our ways," Melyria explained. "He speaks Darnassian with an accent but using mostly correct grammar, and his behavior is very subdued in comparison to other jungle trolls. You waltzed right in to territory he once viewed as enemy territory and had him present himself as a friend to our people. In the eyes of many, it's a sort of relief, a confirmation that our religion and way of life must be 'the correct' one because outlanders are adopting it."

Fighting off the blush, Cecilia giggled at the same time the thought popped into her head that Khujand might be some sort of conquest of hers. Pushing out some naughtier thoughts that entered her mind for no good reason, she turned to Melyria and changed the subject herself. "So what's with this female troll, male elf couple I heard about?" she asked curiously.

Apparently ready for the subject switch, Melyria answered almost immediately. "That's Sodor's cousin."

Cecilia's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Melyria chortled lightly as she finally leaned back herself.

"Small world...and from what I hear, everybody knows about them?"

"That is correct, yet the family isn't aware of that," Melyria replied. "Honestly nobody has a serious problem with that since she's a dark troll and they aren't Horde. There is always some residual jealousy when one of our men marries a woman from outside the race, but that's just petty."

Giving the issue some thought, Cecilia ran her fingers through her hair absentmindedly. "Why don't they just leave the woods and come live here?"

"Good question, but likely because they think they aren't welcome," Melyria said flatly before her eyes lit up. "You're leaving tomorrow evening; have you considered visiting them? I'm sure they'd be interested in bartering for supplies, and perhaps the status of your own marriage would encourage them to return to society."

"I am considering it, actually, out of curiosity if anything else. We've been gone from Ratchet for so long, though, and I don't want to lose much more time."

"Honestly, you could stop by to trade and do lunch with them in a matter of hours," Melyria suggested. "It's on your way and, to be honest, we could use a contact here among the dark trolls. They aided us during the Third War and are so isolated from outlanders - even jungle trolls like your husband - that they could help bolster the more traditional sentiment here in northern Kalimdor. Their only experience with the world outside of their caves is our people."

Cecilia turned to the commander in surprise. "I really never even thought of that," she conceded, though the interest had been sparked. "You know what? We'll do that. We should be able to visit them while looping near the Mor'shan Rampart to avoid Warsong Gulch."


	37. You Aren't Alone

**A/N: for those wondering why Melas is so serious, you can check the opening of the first chapter of "The Greater of Two Evils." That story isn't directly related to this one, but his cameo might explain his seriousness here.**

Khujand finished packing their travel bags for the second time in the visitor's hovel. Normally he would have repacked a third time, but his wife's relatively 'normal' behavior had affected him so much that he just about threw his hands in the air and settled for only one time packing before acquiescing to another.

Perhaps it was both her influence and the great amount of comfort he felt by the end of their trip. Really, he couldn't have imagined a better way for things to have turned out.

Khujand could almost recall the feeling when his heart sank in his chest at the kitchen table nearly two months ago. He shouldn't have been so shocked. It felt like only yesterday he was sitting in Lorthiras' office, being told that he would be spared execution were he to sign a series of confessions on behalf of two separate individuals. Garot'jin, Groty, the person Khujand once was, became unknown to him, and he adopted the new name and identity: Khujand the reformed highway robber. The other man - the one who became Groty - would be sent to the gallows but escaped. Even the day Khujand was released from prison a year early due to Lorthiras offering him up like a sacrificial lamb on the front lines of the assault on the Dark Portal, he had been told the truth about his doppelganger. Groty had sent a series of threatening letters to Lorthiras and swore revenge.

For the first time in a long time, Khujand was able to remember all this without asking himself 'why.' He was able to continue securing the travel bags without wondering what had led up to that point, what had caused such a positive twist of fate. Was't he supposed to have served out the last year of his sentence, never being sent to Draenor at all? Or better yet, wasn't he supposed to have been executed? Or better yet, wasn't he supposed to have turned down the job as a torturer and continued patrolling the northern Gold Road, stuck in a loveless arranged marriage?

In their entirety, these thoughts only crossed Khujand's mind for half a millisecond. A fraction of half of a millisecond. Just like his wife, he had moved on from all the guilty questions. What happened had happened, and that was final. His past was written for him, just as his future already is; the difference is, he just hasn't experienced the future yet. Or something like that. Either way, he had become almost as comfortable with their place in life as Cecilia had, ever thankful and determined to use the time they'd been given to make a positive contribution in the world. Even if it was as simple as the gold he would often lend to stranded travelers at the Ratchet passenger docks without requesting they pay him back one day, or the random underpaid kill quests when locals were threatened by monsters and wild animals, Khujand finally felt like both he and Cecilia had reached a comfortable point in life.

By and large, he had this vacation to thank for it. Once he had cut off with Groty, he was able to sleep easily knowing that his offspring were safe. Thawa was an excellent mother and a hard, independent working woman, married only by choice and not by necessity. All the same, Khujand knew of Taro as well and knew the man was a better father for the kids than he would have been, had things with Warsong ended up differently. Although Khujand would still occasionally think about his two long lost children - he knew he'd never forget until the day he died, even after having more kids with Cecilia - he would also think about how much better things were this way. Better for all of them, really. The growth he'd experienced due to his mistakes wouldn't have been possible had he remained as a patrolman in the Barrens, whittling his life away, always the immature manboy visiting his family only twice a year. The way things were is the way the ought to be.

And after receiving confirmation that his children were safe and sound and had no idea who he is anyway, Khujand was able to focus on the incredible, almost intimidating other half of their marriage: Cecilia's past. He honestly still had difficulty wrapping his head around it sometimes. She was so attached to the world, so free, so happy; how could she be so old? Hell, aside from the greying hair which he actually found sexy, most people would actually think her younger than him based solely on appearance. Cecilia was so casual, so humble, so nonchalant, yet she was so ancient that she must have experienced every experience, seen every sight and tasted every flavor. In spite of her vast life, she always insisted she had been as naive as the rest of her people and counted her life as really beginning with the destruction of Nordrassil.

Maybe, he thought…it made more sense than it did at first. Khujand himself left Stranglethorn Vale, and then Darkspear Isle, and then the Lost Isles with the rest of his people; he literally felt no emotional attachment to the Vale or the various isles at all. There was not an iota of nostalgia in him for those places. He had nothing there nor did he desire to. Even in the case of Durotar, his attachment was minimal. He retained fond memories of adolescence but given the chance, he'd never go back, not even for a visit unless it was required by Lorthiras or any other legal circumstance. Ratchet was his life now.

So, were that the case…then…well, Cecilia spent two thousand years in Suramar, an amount of time unimaginable to all but draenei Kiul's age. She held some memories but they were so fuzzy that she appeared to hold little emotional attachment to them. She spent ten thousand at Serenity, but they were so monotonous that she claims she lost sentience and conscious thought. Given that the last ten years were the most important in her life and most of those years were unbelievable difficult for her, it did make sense - in a way - that her attachment to and focus on Ratchet was just as strong as his.

Well, that, and the fact that she literally told him that verbatim more than once. Realizing that he had thought all that in less than a minute, Khujand laughed and shook his head, pushing the overanalyzing thoughts out and focusing on the moment.

Which passed along with many more relaxing, thought-free moments of clarity just before Cecilia walked in.

She seemed to notice his own personal serenity as he performed a last minute check in the room, and just hugged him from behind without saying anything. Leaning back as far as he could without toppling her over, Khujand paused, soaking in the last minutes they'd likely spend at the traditional encampment of his people's traditional enemies for many months. The resounding acceptance he'd gained from his wife's people had been the crowning achievement of the trip. Although neither of them had said it, the flight from the north Barrens waystation had ben stressful despite the enamoring history lesson she'd shouted across the wind as they rode. Acceptance hadn't been guaranteed and indeed, many of his kind would find the suggestion to fly directly into a night elf military camp nothing short of batshit crazy.

"Hrrmmm," he hummed as Cecilia started to bite the hide of his upper back. Perhaps the two of them were a bit crazy.

He tried to spin around to face her, but she continued clinging to him, clasping her hands together over his midsection. "Don't start somethin' ya can't finish," he warned in a tone that was more playful than he had intended.

When she didn't let go, he reacted. Without even thinking Khujand lightly raked his fingernails along Cecilia's forearms, creating goosebumps all the way.

"Oh!" she cried out just a little too loudly as she finally let go. Only then did she realize that he had strategically edged her against the wall of the hollowed out tree, and she had no more room to back up.

As if on cue, Shael'dryn pranced up to the entryway out of nowhere.

"Is everything alright?" the dryad leader asked from just beyond the tarp providing a little privacy.

"Yeah, we doin' just fine, Shael…er, Dryn…um…"

"Do you two need help packin-"

"NO!" the couple both answered simultaneously.

"Are you sure? It sounds like you're falling over your bags in there."

"We're fine Shael'dryn, we'll be out in a minute!" Cecilia answered before dropping her voice a bit lower. "This ends in a draw; round two will have to wait until later."

Khujand shut his eyes tightly and tried to think of the hot wind of the Barrens, the loud ringing of the bells at the Ratchet shipyard, seals bouncing balls on their noses or anything else his mind could come up with to calm himself down. As comfortable as wearing a loincloth was, it had its biggest obvious disadvantage in concealing very little, and walking around while pitching the proverbial tent pole in the middle of a military camp was the last thing he needed.

"You're thinking of seals bouncing balls on their noses again, aren't you?" he heard his wife ask from behind his shut eyelids.

"That's just about tha most non sexual thing I can think of," he chuckled while blindly hanging the bags over his shoulder.

"You do that," she chortled as they made their exit, "you do that. Because when it comes time for round two…"

"I'm gonna ravish ya, girl."

"No, not if I ravish you fir…wait, who says ravish anymore?"

Clearing his throat, Khujand did his best impression of a human nobleman's voice when speaking High Common. "Verily I shall take thine down from thy…uh…bed chambers and indulge in…in…"

"The carnal desires thou dost conceal within thine wicked, wicked soul!" Cecilia added, temporarily shaking the accent she always retained when speaking Common.

He held the tarp up for her to walk through, and Shael'dryn was already there waiting for the couple. They allowed her to chatter away as she led them to the flight point; truly, they didn't mind the bubbly dryad's effervescence. In light of all the traveling and recouperating they had ahead of them, however, both husband and wife found it difficult to focus. The march through the camp took only a few minutes and, with news of the couple's departure having spread, the troops were beyond cordial and were bordering on friendly. A number of them gave polite nods and waves and even the bumbling three hundred year old Cecilia had told Khujand about a few days before saluted. Melyria was waiting at the flight platform, posture at attention, face stoic but long eyebrows almost sad.

Two other new recruits were already handling the couple's bags by the time they reached the platform, leaving them a few minutes reprieve as they mentally prepared themselves for all the flying they were about to do.

"It was an honor hosting you here," Melyria said with a congenial nod first to Cecilia and then even to Khujand. "Both of you. You are welcome back any time."

"We don't plan on returning to the homeland without stopping by," Cecilia replied, and Khujand noticed a twinge of sadness in his wife's demeanor as well. It was only slight and almost light hearted, but it was there.

He decided to say something himself, feeling it rude to depart silently. "Expect a letter from us soon. We're gonna check out rental prices once we get back. We can even take tha time ta fix up any place ya wanna take before ya reps arrive."

Placing a first on her heart, Melyria's expression became more serious but also - in an odd way - cheerier. "Expect to hear from us soon, too…it would be a shame for all this excess acorn meal to go to waste," she answered with a lightning fast wink.

"It nost certainly would," Cecilia chimed in, flashing an even quicker wink of her own.

The recruits only took a few more minutes securing the couple's belongings, granting them time enough only for some small talk with Melyria and Shael'dryn before it was time to mount up. Helping his wife as always despite her not needing it, Khujand felt a giddy flutter in his heart as the two of them prepared for what must assuredly be the least eventful leg of their trip. Just as they were about to take off, the commander flagged their attention one more time.

"It goes without saying that the talk about Warsong activity here in the camp is serious," Melyria warned concern for her two relatively new friends shining in her bright eyes. "I understand that your people's leader is actively trying to disband the Outriders and fulfill his verbal contract with the High Priestess for a total pullout from Ashenvale, but some of the extremists in the Horde have apparently refused to cooperate."

Khujand snorted his disapproval through his long nose. "Garbage, that whole lotta them," he grumbled, much to Shael'dryn's delight.

"All the same, please be careful on your trip home. The extremists in our own side have leapt at the opportunity and renewed the armed conflict over Warsong Gulch." She reached forward and placed a hand on Cecilia's arm, breaking nornal social ettiquette for their people but displaying a great deal of concern. "Please stay wary; I'd send an escort with you were it not for the situation in Felwood."

"You have absolutely nothing to explain," Cecilia reassured her. "Your duty is to the greater good; travelers such as ourselves can make do on our own. Keep watch over the holy land, and we'll do our best from our end." Khujand sensed his wife turning to him just before she placed her own hand on his arm. "Let's stop and see if we can rejuvenate the ties between the Kaldorei and the Shadowtooth. On the way, we can discuss this rental plan in the southside of Ratchet and see what we can arrange for our new comrades here."

Once again trying to avoid any more melancholy from a potentially long goodbye, Khujand and Cecilia gave a final wave to the small group if troops that had gathered - including the archers that had notched their arrows at the big jungle troll upon his first arrival - and spurred their mounts. Not even looking back, the two soared, Cecilia leading Khujand to a relatively high elevation as they made their way south.

"There," Cecilia said while pointing to a long break in the canopy. "That's the place Shael'dryn marked in the map."

Sure enough, the crevice like opening reminded Khujand of the description they'd received. The land inclined upward though not steeply, and between the large leaves of the canopy beyond the break the top if a hill could roughly be made out.

After half a night of flying, it was a welcome sight, but what to do now?

"So, uh…do we just land and call out 'hello' till somebody invites us in?" he shouted as they circled in the sky above the break.

"That's sufficient as long as we land. The fact that our…pairing is similar to theirs will likely help them to relax around us a little."

Right after she finished her sentence, Cecilia dove and Khujand had to rush to keep up with her. His wife appeared to be experiencing no apprehension about meeting the new people at all. He, however, was a little bit uneasy. The female half of the couple they were supposed to meet was a dark troll; if Khujand's race - the jungle trolls - were considered uncivilized, the dark trolls were considered downright animalistic. Of course he'd never met any before, but all trolls knew rough descriptions of the various races within their species. For sure much of it was based solely on stereotypes, but how much exactly? Would this family simply be walking on wet leaves shoeless, or would the wife be full blown topless wearing nothing but a hula skirt made of grass on a string?

Wow…that was literally the most awkward thought he'd had in a long time, he realized, and he could usually lay claim to the throne of awkwardness land to begin with.

When the hippogriffs galloped to a stop, the couple had already heard a rustle in the bushes, and the lack of stealth signaled that it was another sentient. Seeing as how this was his wife's territory, he left the greetings to her and hung behind as the two of them dismounted. In spite of the pair of amber eyes glowing at them from the underbrush, the two hippogriffs appeared undisturbed, perhaps sensing that whatever was there wasn't hostile.

A second later whatever had been rustling the bushes from behind ambled out to clear view, and before them sat a brown bear. A surprisingly unaggressive if cautious bear, but still a bear.

That it appeared unafraid obviously meant it was a druid - that 'Melas' fellow, Khujand believed he had heard at the Retreat. Holding her hands up, Cecilia introduced themselves to the pensive bear.

"Greetings, brother," she said formally. "I am Cecilia Hearthglen; this is my husband, Khujand. We come in peace."

Khujand had no experience reading the facial expressions of bears, though he had a feeling that the man…or animal…or however one refers to druids when shifted viewed them with distrust. It stood idly as it…he? watched them, saying nothing.

"We are on our way back to the Barrens, but wished to meet a family we were told is similar to ours," Cecilia continued. "We just came from Raynewood Retreat, where the troops there gave us a warm welcome."

No reaction. The bear kept on examining the two travelers before him in the oblong clearing, not a sound to be heard other than Khujand and the bear's heavy breathing and some owls hooting.

Suddenly, the bushes behind the bear rustled, and the three were joined by two. Another bear, slightly smaller with darker fur, ambled up behind the first. In between them, bearing the soft fuzzy fur of a youngling, was a cute little bear cub with big amber eyes. All three of them huddled together, defensive though not startled, eyeing the non-druidic couple attempting to reach out to them. The hippogriffs began to mill about, pulling up sleeping gophers from the ground and gobbling the critters up as though nothing of significance were happening around them.

The sentient bear parents glanced at each other, and Khujand remembered once hearing from a Darkspear druid in his old guild back on Draenor that their class had a means of communicating with each other silently when shifted. It was almost as if they had their own language nobody could spy on, although the lack of hostility meant that there was no need or desire to spy on their conversation.

Cecilia tried to communicate with the bear family one more time, and despite her politeness Khujand could tell she was just about ready to leave if they didn't respond. Receiving the cold shoulder from a bear was fairly high on the awkwardness list.

"We were told by the locals at the Retreat that you're a respected family in these parts. Some of them even hoped you would visit their camp at some point, and they felt that your family would be able to contribute to the more traditional Kaldorei atmosphere-"

Just then, the family was surrounded by a mass of green swirls through the air that Khujand recognized as earth magic. Skin creaked and joints snapped back into place as the silhouettes changed shape beyond the green light, and a yelp escaped the mouth of what was once a cub but was now an obviously mixed race child.

The residual green mist left in the wake of the shifting spells hadn't even cleared before the husband spoke. "Elune be with you both," said the noble, formal voice of a night elf man speaking Zandali. His was much more fluent than Cecilia's and Khujand could tell that the man must have been married to his wife for quite some time. "What is it that you seek from us?" the man who was likely named Melas asked almost tersely as the green mist appeared.

Much like Cecilia had done in Durotar, Melas had apparently adorned his face with the war paint customary of all trolls. He wore a troll talisman on a necklace and although his scant robes were somewhat druidic in appearance, they were crudely made as one might expect from a troll tribesman. His wife - reportedly named Anjula - was Cecilia's height, somewhat short for a dark troll woman but still taller than Melas. She wore similar crudely made druidic robes and had hung a fetish from one of her charcoal grey braids, a sort of mixture of druidism and voodoo. The boy, not more than five years old, wore a simple loincloth and pair of sandals as he clung to his mother's leg. His skin was a deep purple closer to his mother's, but his blue-grey hair was clearly somewhere in between.

No wonder the family had become well known; Khujand could tell they would raise as many eyebrows as he and Cecilia did.

Once again his wife jumped in, attempting to calm the startled family. "It is as we said; we only wished to greet a sister and brother in a similar situation to ours," she explained in Darnassian, hoping the wife would understand.

She did, apparently, as the dark mother leaned over to the lighter father to address him while keeping her eyes on the two visitors. "These people seem safe, mate," she murmured in Zandali, the native tongue of their people. "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to know them."

Influenced by his wife's culture, the husband mulled the possible friendship over in his head. Were Melas married to a night elf woman, Khujand thought, the decision wouldn't be up to him. The contrast between cultures never ceased to amaze the Darkspear, even a year and a half into his own relationship.

Whatever the family had been through, it must have stricken them with serious trust issues when relating to strangers. Cecilia had behaved in as non threatening a fashion as possible, yet the people he assumed were Anjula and Melas were still withdrawn. After another moment of what must have been that form of silent communication, the Kaldorei man turned and spoke in fluent Zandali again.

"We would be honored to host you for a while," the man said flatly and without enthusiasm.

Khujand tilted his ears in a silent signal of their own, noting that something wasn't normal. For both of their respective peoples, hosting a traveler was an occasion which called for more hospitality than 'a while.' Cecilia tilted her ears back one after the other, signaling that she noticed it too, but that he should 'trust in her command' for the time being.

Without saying a word, Anjula and Melas walked with their son through the bushes and down a beaten path, keeping a slow pace to at least show that their two visitors were welcome. Cecilia stepped ahead first and Khujand followed, taking in the calm surroundings and wondering what made the family so cold toward potentially friendly visitors also in an interracial marriage like them. The canopy hung mich lower here and Khujand had to slouch in order to avoid catching his mohawk in the tree branches. His shoulders actually scuffed a few tree trunks as they made their way through, and the underbrush beyond a certain point was no longer trampled under. This family had obviously worked hard to keep their home hidden away from the world.

After not too long of a period, they reached an odd place. The ground beneath them was soft, grey, grassless sand like a clearing, but the low hanging trees stretched out with wide branches and leaves, concealing the forest floor from the sky with an exceptionally thick part of the canopy. That the woods had only a single entrance due to the inpenetrable density insinuatrd that this place had been designed rather than grown in such a formation by chance. Once the family moved aside and revealed a naturally grown hut along with a perfectly contained vegetable garden and moonwell, Khujand's suspicions were confirmed. These people had grown a house of their own using druidic magic and then sealed themselves off from the world.

Before either Khujand or Cecilia had said anything, the boy dashed forward into the hut and began fiddling with what sounded like the scraping of iron cooking utensils. The man stood by the entryway, observing both his son and the visitors at the same time while the wife motioned for Cecilia to follow her to an above ground root system grown to form low benches around a tree stump with some empty wooden cups on top.

Following the lead of their hosts, Cecilia twitched her left ear once, signaling that all was well. If she was resorting to their ear language, however, then Khujand knew that some sort of tension lingered in the air.

"I am Melas," the man suddenly said in another plain, flat tone. The statement came without warning and may have been the result of mental prompting by his wife. "My wife is Anjula. We welcome you to our humble home."

The boy began dragging a wicker basket full of root vegetables out of the hut, washed but not peeled, which as healthier in the case of many of the tubers. Khujand couod tell that this family may not have had any visitors for a long time. Judging by the behavior of their young son, he may not have ever met non family members before.

"My name is Khujand, and my wife is Cecilia Hearthglen of Serenity Grove," the Darkspear answered, not even realizing that he had begun speaking Zandali as well. It felt too natural with this night elf man, unlike with his fellow Darkspear in Durotar nearly two months ago where it felt forced. "Commander Melyria Frostshadow of Raynewood Retreat sends glad tidings to you."

Melas eyed Khujand closely, his suspicion no longer hidden. "Do her troops know where we are?" His total lack of an accent when speaking the language of the troll's race was uncanny.

"No, well, she does personally but...everyone spoke of you positively," Khujand answered. "I don't think there is any reason to be concerned."

"Were it so simple..." Melas' voice trailed off in the end.

In the man's eyes, Khujand saw a certain weariness mixed with an unhealthy dose of pessimism. It reminded him of his own self in the month or so between being released from prison and when he bumped in to Cecilia on Draenor. This man, however, had a wife that appeared to be in tune with him mentally and emotionally and a son that was shockingly well behaved for someone even half troll. There was quite a bit behind those eyes, though Khujand had no inclination to invade anyone's privacy.

The two women were already laughing lightly and it was clear that, despite the racial makeup being opposite, the stronger personality in these people's marriage was similar in that it laid with the female half. The boy began placing food on the tree stump, occasionally looking to one of his parents while saying nothing. Guessing by their behavior, Khujand surmised that the three of them spent more time communicating telepathically than verbally, and may very well spend more time in bear form than person form. He'd heard from his old guildie about some of the druids lingering while shifted for a bit too long, and losing some of their grip on normal life.

Melas motioned to two large sized but smooth roots jutting up from the ground. "We were not prepared for guests, but for what it's worth, whatever we have here is yours."

As was the custom with both the night elves and jungle trolls, the women and men both sat near each other but conversed separately. Focusing on his wife's attempts at an entire expressive dialogue about race relations in Ashenvale - in Zandali - was quite the treat for Khujand. Though he did make a living as a teacher, just as Cecilia did, alchemy was far different from languages. He didn't feel he was a particularly good Zandali teacher and coupled with the fact that his wife already knew seven languages before that and that elves were slower learners than the younger lived races, and Khujand was on shock at how quickly she'd learned. At the Southfury Watershed she'd stumbled through his quick lessons; with Anjula, Cecilia almost sounded comfortable in the language.

On the other hand, Melas appeared fluent but much less inclined to speak. His son said almost nothing during the meal. One thing that did pique the druid's interest, however, was the topic of other people's knowledge of their presence and how they were viewed. Like most elves, Melas was guarded. Hell, even Cecilia and Irien were around people they didn't know; Irien almost shot him they day he met the pair back on Draenor. In spite of his staying mum about his own life, though, he was talkitive and full of questions about the outside world. Khujand felt good when giving clearly downtrodden people answers they wanted, but the conversation was altogether exhausting.

During a lull in the conversation, Melas and his son - Tan'jin, apparently - both began to stare into the dirt. Delighted at the break in talking and not the least bit awkward, Khujand resigned himself to staring off into the dense woods, listening to his wife's enviously interesting conversation and fighting off a post meal nap.

He didn't know how much time had elapsed before Cecilia snapped him back to the conversation with her quasi-fluent Zandali.

"Yes, mate?" she asked him out of nowhere.

Khuand blinked a few times before he realized his wife was talking to him. "Hmm?"

Cecilia and Tan'jin were looking directly at him. Anjula appeared to be slightly amused. Melas continued to stare at the ground.

"Anjula and Melas and Tan'jin. When they go Raynewood, good thing. Not problems from other Kaldorei. Yes?" Cecilia's confidence when speaking Zandali was so cute he wanted to wrap her in a bear hug right there, but unfortunately would have to wait for later.

"Yes dear, the people stationed at the Retreat are actually looking forward to meeting them," he replied to Cecilia while looking at the hermit family.

Anjula appeared to be afflicted with a combination of excitement and unease as she spoke. "Maybe this is finally our time, mate," she said to Melas. "You remember when we talked about it."

'It' must have been another of the various undefined terms passed between the silently communicating family, as Melas peered in to Anjula for a few moments before simply muttering "perhaps it is."

The conversation skipped a beat before Cecilia jumped in. "We go now. Big travel to Ratchet. But after six month, we go here again." Easing in to more trollish behavior, Cecilia actually slipped her hand into Anjula's and squeezed roughly as she spoke. "We see you in that go?"

Anjula looked to Melas for the answer and the man only needed a few seconds to reply. "Maybe...you'll see us in Raynewood," he sighed as if in defeat. Khujand couldn't understand the man.

The Shadowtooth, however, pulled one side of her lip up over a tusk, a grateful smile breaking out across her face as though she had expected him to say no. Turning back to Cecilia, Anjula looked elated but made no effort to prevent the couple from leaving.

"Please, let us see you back to your mounts," she said to Cecilia while looking to her husband for approval again.

Melas appeared to be enraptured in deep thought, but responded to his wife's voice. Giving Khujand a slight nod, he stood up and brushed off his kilt, waiting for his son and his guest to follow suit as he led the way out. Cecilia and Anjula trailed behind, still holding hands as they walked - in the cultures of most trolls it was socially acceptable among the women, as opposed to some cultures where it was the norm among the men or elves where it wasn't normal anywhere outside of the home. Their chatter contrasted with the silence of the men, though that silence didn't come about for the same reasons. Khujand was perfectly comfortable listening to his wife's voice all day; Melas appeared concerned about something. Khujand had the distinct feeling that the husband was the reason for the family's hermitage and that the wife wanted to return to society.

Best of luck to them, the Darkspear thought. Melyria and Shael'dryn were practically waiting on them with open arms back at the encampment. And the fact that Anjula's people had fought under the banner of the Kaldorei at the Battle of Mount Hyjal meant that she and Melas would probably have an even easier time gaining acceptance than Khujand and Cecilia had.

Before long, the group of five had reached the hippogriffs, and the mounts looked eager to take to the skies again. The goodbies were brief but sincere as Khujand forcibly helped Cecilia hop on and then saddled up himself. The women had gotten along so well that they were still talking by the time the mounts were about to take off. Just then, Melas behaved a bit trollisbly and grunted to grab Khujand's attention.

"Thank you for passing on the information, my brother. Perhaps it is time that our self imposed solitude should...come to an end."

"The world is a different place now," Khujand tried to reassure the pensive night elf male. "And it would appear that your people await your return close by. I was surprised by their acceptance; it is my hope that you gonna be, too."

Giving only a nod in affirmation that he'd heard, Melas stepped back and put an arm around his wife's shoulder. She was Cecilia's height and thus a bit taller than him, but the other not so odd couple looked as comfortable with each other as can be.

With a whoosh and a screech, the hippogriffs took off breaking through the crevasse in the canopy and circling to ascend. Khujand noticed that the family had already shifted back to bear form during the hipppgriff's ascent. Maybe for them, they were their true selves when shifted; it was odd but beautiful in it's own way.

They were quickly out of sight, though, and Khujand was once again working to keep up with Cecilia. She giggled and let him catch up, standing up over her saddle to show off as they made what they thought was their final exit on that trip.

So enthralled were they with one another that neither of them, not even the former sentinel with so many millennia of experience, noticed the silver haired hippogriff rider trailing below them, preparing some sort of flare in her free hand.


	38. Can't Escape Fate

**A/N: Violence in this chapter. Though not as much as the next one...**

Cecilia couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so happy.

Soaring over the very southern reaches of Ashenvale, she enumerated to Khujand which particularly large purplewoods she could remember from the Vigil and which hills and bluffs she recognized from her many patrols. He was absolutely enamored with her knowledge and with her, one of the many traits which both made her love him and feel loved right back.

Her sadness at leaving has disappeared entirely. Within a few months, they would be back for a much more relaxing, less dramatic visit. As pompous as it might have been, she spent more than an hour as they flew shouting across the wind about all the sights they hadn't managed to see in Ashenvale but would see eventually. In fact, he even seemed eager when she suggested they visit Moonglade; if they arrived early enough, they could even snag a room at an inn for Lunar Festival.

How could the trip have gone so well? A silly questions perhaps, but a pertinent one nonetheless. To think she once lived under the Highborne, filling herself with cheese and wine as she and Unelia spent hours on end sitting and talking and wasting time on the banks of the Well...they were her memories, but they seemed so far away. She could remember the handful of suitors that had showed interest in her over those two millennia. Given that their lives had already been greatly extended by arcane magic even before immortality, they all lived as though they would never die and she was in no rush to give herself up to the first craftsman or nobleman's son who showed up at her family's doorstep bearing gifts. Cecilia could still remember watching magi using their arcane contraptions to excavate clay from the banks of the Well, and then pay laborers inflated salaries to fashion pottery from the supposedly blessed mud. She could remember a time when paved roads snd public lanterns along those roads were a big deal, and a time when the first major public bathhouse was considered a huge development.

On the flip side, she could remember running barefoot through the forest as she and her sisters hunted down a stag that was twice Khujand's height at the shoulder. They spent three months stalking it, a week weakening and then killing it and another month just skinning it and portioning the meat. The spoils had been divided among three separate groves and it took her, Unelia, their mother, Tirith and Celonia more than a month to transport their portions back. Men were only a distant memory at that point and memory in general had become distorted due to the loss of much of her sentience to the monotony.

The two images seemed liked two different people. One, an imperial upper middle class woman wearing a toga and sneering at odor of the farm workers as they passed by in Suramar. Another, a feral, savage woman of the wilds doing nothing but riding around the forest week in and week out, and probably smelling a bit herself given how she and her sisters didn't have time to bathe during the longer forays into the wilderness.

Both of those people were Isurith, and living those dual lives created the person that became Cecilia. A third image now existed - a relaxed retiree still feeling young and energetic if not as much so as during her forest dwelling phase, contributing to a neutral, multiracial community living in a port city. And, better yet, Cecilia was truly, truly happy.

"Ya realize that ya've been sayin' all that stuff out loud again, right?"

Even behind her flight goggles, Cecilia's eyed widened at being caught by her husband again.

"N...no."

She could see Khujand's familiar mushy grin in the night sky. "Ya know I love it, and that I'm eager ta here what ya can remember any time, girl," he hummed to her affectionately. "Don't ever feel embarrassed when ya fall inta one of ya nostalgia trances."

Waiting for the blush to fade from her cheeks, Cecilia wrapped up what she thought had been an inner monologue but apparently had been a spoken one. "I just...never thought I would be this lucky. I was so worried they wouldn't let us in."

"Tha Goddess loves ya like I do, girl, even if ya got hangups about believen' and all that." Although he had to shout due to the wind whipping in their long ears, his tone was a soft one that could always make her heart flutter, even when listening to it every day.

"I'm working on my relationship with the divine," she retorted, and she meant it. "I need some time to figure things out, but...I'm getting there."

They didn't have much time to bask in their shared sappiness. Before long, they could already see the first billows of smoke over the horizon.

"Cici...what's goin' on?" Khujand asked cautiously.

Cecilia squinted her eyes. Due to the speed at which flying mounts traveled she couldn't remove her goggles, but she could make out the image of a clearing over a large field formerly used to transport troops when meeting the Outriders in battle.

"It's...a skirmish," she said dreadfully. "It must be the renewed hostilities we heard about."

"We're far from tha Gulch...how big can this be?" His voice didn't actually contain fear, but she knew her husband was certainly concerned for their safety.

"The factions have a peace accord regarding this land; these can only be the subfactions we were told about before," she reasoned, attempting to soothe both her husband and herself. "If they're fighting here, they may be fighting in the Gulch as well. But Mor'shan isn't far from here..."

"Tha gap between Mor'shan and tha Gulch is sizeable."

"Then the only way out is through," she stated firmly, taking the lead as she adjusted their course for the southwest.

As they passed, Cecilia could see the fires burning around several destroyed war machines and at least one crater; explosives were involved. Vaguely, though even further away, she could make out the shapes of troops on both sides hunkered down behind battlefield ramparts. There couldn't be more than two dozen on each side and the conflict appeared to be dying down.

"The fighing looks like it's stopped. We need to keep moving, but for now things should be fine," she said, making sure to mask her unease from him.

Just then, a bright light shot up in the air in front of them.

"Whoa!" Khujand exclaimed, leaning to look below them.

In a flash, another hippogriff shot ahead of theirs and descended fast. Cecilia just barely saw a long, braided silver ponytail flapping in the wind and even though she didn't recognize it, the rider seemed strangely familiar. Not someone from her past, but familiar all the same. The woman quickly flew out of sight and became a spec on the ground, reminding Cecilia of how high their altitude was.

"Was that some kind of a flare?" he asked worriedly.

"That was a signal, that was definitely a signal," Cecilia said in a rushed tone as they picked up speed. "Let's move!"

Nobody on the ground seemed to notice the couple, though the two sides seemed to have largely given up fighting. Rather than the standard of the Kaldorei, the night elves below huddled under the banners of the Alliance itself as well as a guild insignia which held a pre-Sundering rune Cecilia couldn't read through her goggles. On the opposite side, she could see the banner of the officially disgraced Warsong Outriders along with that of the Horde; images of the Outrider veterans' reunion at the Crossroads over a month ago flashed through her mind.

All seemed quiet, however. A little too quiet.

"That sentinel had to have signaled cause of us," Khujand surmised out loud.

"We just have to keep moving; if we get far enough away, we won't seem worth their time." Just as Cecilia finished her sentence, she could make out the image of three more hippogriff riders breaking out of an airborne shadowmeld. "Shit!"

A sentinel appeared to Cecilia's right and below them both. Khujand was to her left and to his left, a male sentinel materialized. The three were looking ahead, but obviously aware of their two targets. Cecilia switched to her broken Zandali, needing a way to communicate without being understood.

"One below we, not able attack!" Cecilia shouted to Khujand, not caring about being heard. "Get close to one next you!"

Having spent ten millennia in military service, Cecilia had enough experience with the Sentinel Air Force even if it wasn't her specialty. This was a pincer ambush, and their interlocutors either planned on forcing the couple down or taking pot shots. Her people were cautious, though, and Cecilia knew she'd need to take a few pages from the Horde playbook that she and Irien had learned from Sonja. This was no time for talk or negotiation; her fellow night elves most definitely had ill intentions.

"Get close like this!" Cecilia battle cried to Khujand as she took a sharp turn to her right.

The sentinel flanking her hadn't expected the kamikaze dive and tried to dip down - a textbook maneuver all night elves were taught during aerial combat training. They were the most skilled warriors on Azeroth, but Cecilia knew better than any other that her people's experience made them rigid and arrogant - they often refused to update their tactics, feeling they had nothing to learn from the outlanders.

Big mistake, she thought.

Just as the sentinel dropped down, Cecilia flicked the latch on her travel bags with her left hand, allowing them to plummet to the ground and reduce her mount's carried weight; she'd lose her clothes but by the night, she wouldn't lose her life.

Spinning three hundred and sixty degrees, Cecilia gripped her mother's lance with her free hand and jabbed out just as she turned upside down.

"Screeeech!" the sentinel's hippogriff cried as Cecilia stabbed the lance directly into the mount's left wing.

Dragging the lance backward as she twisted and came upright again, Cecilia ripped flesh and feathers both as she mutilated the enemy hippogriff's wing. Her heart pounded as she rotated, aware of how high they were and how long it had been since she'd caught in a situation like this, but her nervousness was replaced by excitement when she realized that her gamble had paid off.

Unable to fly properly, the sentinel and her mount plummeted to their deaths before any of the attackers had even made an attempt on her or her husband's lives. Ever true to their people's stoic pride, the sentinel screamed only for a second before stifling it, too embarrassed to let her comrades sense her fear even in the face of impending doom. Ripping her attention away, Cecilia looked back in fear of her own as she remembered that her husband was afraid of heights.

And yet Khujand seemed to understand the dire nature of their situation. Seemingly letting go of his fear, he followed suit and charged right in to the Kaldorei male, ramming the sentinel's hippogriff before the man had a chance to raise his own lance. The man was above average size for a night elf, but still not the size Cecilia's husband, and Khujand's sheer weight rocked both rider and mount so hard that the man fumbled to keep ahold of his lance. Cecilia grinned and sucked air in between her teeth; she felt giddy, proud and slightly turned on by how well her husband handled himself despite his acrophobia.

"Traitor!" The male sentinel hissed the curse in Cecilia's direction, but just as he got ahold of his lance, his entire mount got rocked a second time.

Khujand reached to the side, grabbed the man's arm and yanked.

:: _SNAP_ ::

"Yeeeaaargggh!" the man cried out as his arm suddenly appeared much longer than it should have.

Even after apparently ripping the male sentinel's arm right out of the socket, Khujand continued pulling on the sleeve of the man's mail jerkin, which had copious amounts of blood seeping through it at the shoulder. Khujand continued to pull until the man was almost hanging upside down on the hippogriff's belly, causing the saddle to twist around the animal's waist.

"Screeeeech!"

Struggling to stay upright, the mount was dragged downward rapidly by its now upside down rider. The man's waist and feet were still tied to the stirrups; he was unable to correct his seating and the hippogriff was unable to shake him off and drop him, and so they both descended awkwardly and dangerously to what was, if not certain death, certain horrifying injury and probably paralysis for them both.

"We're going to make it!" Cecilia cheered in Darnassian. "Keep moving, keep-"

:: _WHOOSH_ ::

The first arrow whizzed by from behind them, and Cecilia remembered that a third sentinel had been shadowing them. The first shot was likely only a test of the woman's aim; the next might be serious, and Cecilia knew Khujand couldn't fly well enough to avoid being shot in the head.

"Backward!" she commanded her hippogriff, and the creature flew up in the air and then, turning upside down, flew straight back to a head on collission with the archer.

True to her training, the woman veered to the right, avoiding both members of the couple. Khujand charged again, and the hippogriff corrected his poor direction and nearly caught the woman as she just barely avoided a collision that would have been disastrous for her. Cecilia looped around again but with less speed than a pure aerial combatant would have, and found herself just outside of striking distance. The sentinel tried to descend in order to escape, and Cecilia realized the woman was trying to lead them into something; were they to pull back, she'd likely pelt them with arrows again.

There were only split seconds to make a decision, but she knew what had to be done: she had to get Khujand out of there. As tough as he was, an arrow through the head would kill anybody and he just wasn't experienced enough to dodge arrows on hippogriffback. But if he could make it to the line of Horde soldiers about a mile away, his race would allow him to blend in despite having burned his Horde ID card months ago in favor of a Steamwheedle one. From there, they could regroup; Cecilia could outfly this and any other sentinels and then shadowmeld in the treetops until things blew over. They'd both been through worse than this back on Draenor; they would make it through.

"Khujand!" Cecilia shouted as she prepared to switch to broken Zandali again. "Go for red and black banner! Sit for other trolls! I kill this one, then sit for trees here!"

Her husband hesitated momentarily and she could tell his objectivity still wasn't at the level of hers. Even through his goggles she could sense the worry and concern in his eyes. It didn't make her feel any worse than she already did, however; this plan was the best way to ensure their safety.

"Go!" she commanded a bit more forcefully as she straight up dove at the sentinel.

Spurring his mount but focusing on her, Khujand dashed forward into the night sky. She saw him gain altitude and veer toward the end of the battlefield where the forest began again, obviously trying to avoid being seen. Her attention was caught by the sound of a bowstring.

Looking down, Cecilia saw the sentinel notch another arrow and aim for her husband once more. Any Kaldorei woman worth her mettle would easily make the shot; Cecilia had only seconds to spare. Going the route of the other side once more, she dug one of her nails into her hippogriff's rump.

"Screeeeeeech!" it screeched exceptionally loudly.

The sentinel flinched, causing her to hesitate. Long ears rotating, she turned only to see Cecilia's family lance before it pierced her own rump.

"Aahhh!" the sentinel cried out as the lance jarred against her pelvic bone so roughly that the sound could be heard even ovee the roar of the wind.

Cecilia gripped her mother's lance tightly, guiding her hippogriff to keep to the other's tail feathers. The elven steel remained embedded in the other woman's gluteus maximus, causing her to writhe in pain in a way that would have caused other serving sentinels to abandon her to her shame were they to witness it. Her bow tumbled from her hands and Cecilia's rage at the thought of someone threatening her husband's life was replaced by a cold, hard calculation: the threat wouldn't be over after a simple injury. Her fellow night elf - whose guild tabard clearly bore the ancient rune for war - would alert those on the ground if left alive.

That is, if they hadn't already been alerted by the flare.

Which they had been...and then the glaives started.

:: _SHINK_ ::

An enormous, tri-headed blade half as wide in diameter as Cecilia was tall flew by dangerously close to both riders, continuing on into the night sky. Using her peripheral vision, Cecilia spied three of the massive glaive throwers that struck such terror in the hearts of nature's foes aimed upward at her. Those war machines were expensive, cumbersome and highly regulated. They were only rolled out in times of serious conflict...or if they'd been stolen by a rogue faction, she thought. Her panic for herself was controlled; her panic for her mate was not.

:: _SHINK_ ::

Two more glaives whizzed up halfway between herself, her foe and her husband, and she could tell that those womanning them were young and less experienced. That did nothing to decrease Cecilia's anxiety; only one slice was needed to end them.

:: _WHOOSH_ ::

A throwing knife nicked her on the shoulder, marking a cut into her light leather pauldron that was more for decoration than protection. The skewered enemy sentinel had surprisingly good aim despite having a low pain threshhold, and Cecilia wrenched the tip of her mother's lance deeper into the sentinel's rump in order to maintain control.

"Rrrraaaaa!" the woman cried out as the serrated blade dug from her glute down into her thigh.

Blood soaked the enemy hippogriff's plume, but Cecilia held fast, needing to use the other woman as a living shield. The glaive throwers below rotated as they refined their aim. As hard as Cecilia drove, she could only control the enemy hippogriff's direction; she couldn't force it to fly higher and in fact it seemed to be descending due to the weight. Khujand was much further ahead, almost all the way over the Warsong Outriders' side of the battlefield, and hope filled Cecilia's heart as it seemed like they were so close to escaping.

:: _SHINK_ ::

"Scrrrrr..."

The enemy hippogriff let out a death groan as its underbelly was ripped open by a glaive. Although the creature's bulk prevented it from actually being cut in half, the blades apparently hit right over the mount's stomach.

Not satisfied by a mere plummet for her foe, Cecilia yanked her mother's lance from the sentinel's leg and backside and thrust one more time, piercing the woman's shoulder blade and lung; Cecilia wasn't cruel and no honorable soldier enjoyed killing - it was only to be done out of necessity. In this case, however, a sort of primal protective instinct kicked in, and she struck so hard that the sentinel's body flew right off the hippogriff and left an airborne trail of blood dripping behind during the fall. The mount soon followed, and Cecilia found herself almost near the southwestern edge of the battlefield but without a meat shield.

More glaives flew up at them, but Cecilia could no longer hear. Everything became a blur as she focused on their escape, ignoring the extremely refined aim. The glaives cut closer to both herself and her husband each time, flying up at a faster rate. They were so close. So very, very close.

But when it finally happened, time progressed in slow motion.

Cecilia could see the exact angle of the glaive as it made its way up to Khujand. It was a perfect shot, almost admirable were it not ripping everything from her.

He saw it coming, but could not alter the hippogriff's course in time. It lost speed when he pulled in the reins, weighted down by the jungle troll on its back. The blades continued to rotate as the glaive soared upward at a truly amazing speed, reflecting the moonlight with each spin. As if it understood what came next, the hippogriff reared up and exposed its thick, massive neck and chest cavity. Loyal to the very end, the mount took the blades into its body, shielding Khujand from a direct hit. Its beak opened but Cecilia could no longer hear to sense the pained screech.

Just before they fell, he turned to her and ripped his goggles off. Even with the impending loss of all they'd worked for, all they'd fought for, he wasn't sad. A true happiness shone in his eyes as though he'd already accepted his fate in the microsecond he had to consider it. They had both coped with the atrocities they'd once committed; they'd moved on and did their best to add whatever positivity to the world they could. They had not just been content, but happy.

Even when the hippogriff fell out from under him, Khujand remained looking up at her. There was a sort of immediate, surface sadness on his face but nothing deep. He shrank from her view as he tumbled toward the ground, rapidly picking up speed that was sure to shatter him to pieces.

Cecilia, however, could not accept it. It took her only a second to realize that the screaming she heard was her own as she reached one hand out in vain, every muscle in her body straining in both physical and emotional pain. There was no hallucination or flashback; this was all soul crushingly real, interrupted only by the glaive entering her own hippogriff's chest.

The world spun around her, ground and sky switching places several times. Some people spoke of one's life flashing before one's eyes in situations such as this; for Cecilia, the ground couldn't have approached faster. She held on without knowing why, desperately scanning the ground for her husband as she fell, wishing at least to die next to him.

She was denied; she saw nothing but trenches, burning wagons and the corpses of many other people from both sides. She didn't have time to mourn or accept her fate; she didn't even have time to wallow in her own pain.

In a final selfless act, her hippogriff craned its neck and head up and spread its wings back, forming the best protective shell around Cecilia it could. She tried to push the wings away, not wanting to continue her new life without the person she'd built it with, but her panic at how fast it had all ended sapped her strength.

They hit the ground, and Cecilia heard the loudest noise of her life as her vision went black.


	39. All Is Lost

**A/N: warning for bullying triggers and violence.**

At first there was nothing.

Not even darkness.

Then there was sound; something to react to. Something. Automatically, existence came into being again.

Crackled. What crackled? The mind tried to focus and remembered a name. Remembered what embers sound like.

Embers come from fire.

Wind brought not only sound but sensation; the mind had a body. The body felt the wind. Felt the heat from the embers. And the body felt pain.

Pain from being hit hard physically. It didn't matter. The pain in the heart was much worse.

Why did her heart hurt?

Memories flooded in so fast that she felt nauseous. That was another feeling.

Paralyzed by the sheer volume and memories flooding back to the ancient being, she remained face down in the dirt, unable to move. The memories hurt more than the fall. They stung her with their happiness.

Cecilia had worked so hard. She had waited so long. All the life experience from the bronze age, past the copper age, into the iron age and now the steam age built her up. Prepared her for the crowning achievement. A real life.

A life without both the numbness and sensory overload of the decadent world ruled by the highborn. A life without both the numbness and total lack of mental stimulation of the oppressive world ruled by the World Tree. But a life of sentience based on the prior experiences of both.

Cecilia would never have chosen anything else; not even were she given another ten millennia. She loved that man. With all her heart. She really, truly did. They completed one another in a way she thought existed only in fairly tales; a way that made her feel young again. Made her feel happy for the first time. Made her feel truly alive. Beings were created in pairs so they could share their lives with one another.

But now, lying in the dirt while surrounded by embers, Cecilia found it too painful to even think her late husband's name. Her existence was pain. A pain far worse than she had ever experienced. Her heart ached with a severity she wouldn't have wished on Sargeras himself.

And there she lied, waiting for the nasusea to leave her. Why, she did not know. She'd lie on that battlefield until she starved if she had to. There was nothing left for her; her reason for waking up in the morning was gone.

How could it end like this?

The wind kept her company for however many minutes she lied there, wondering what she had done so wrong that caused her to continue breathing. She thought she had repented from the war crimes she had committed. She really had. This was not how she had seen it ending...not in twelve thousand years. She almost wished she had just been killed herself in war. It would have hurt far less.

Cecilia remembered the look on her husband's face just before he fell out of sight. There was a serenity beneath his sadness. Most likely, it was due to his upbringing; most of his kind did not believe in death.

Cecilia's eyes flicked open as she realized what she had to do. His body must be nearby; he hadn't fallen far from her.

Yes, she told herself. There is no death. Only a life after life. Feeling surprisingly little physical pain considering her great fall - her hippogriff had absorbed almost all of the force of the impact - Cecilia dug her fingers into the dirt and crawled. One hand after the other. Left. Right. Left.

She would crawl all the way into her husband's arms, and wait for starvation or dehydration to take her. Then, in the next life, they could be together again.

In her delirium, she didn't even notice the footsteps pacing behind her.

Crawling without even knowing where she was going, the distraught widow had broken out of a circle of corpses, splintered ramparts and scrap metal by the time she clearly sensed the four people around her. Despite lying on her belly, Cecilia could see one pair of booted feet and her sensitive ears picked up the sound of three more surrounding her. The presence of other people ripped her delusions away from her, and she realized just where she was at the same time that she realized she did have more energy left than she thought in spite of what she'd just been through.

Cecilia hadn't yet risen by the time she heard the scornful, unpleasantly grating voice.

"What the fuck happened to you, Isurith?"

Cecilia paused. Familiarity overwhelmed her again at the sound of the voice. She knew that voice very well from her past. It was the voice of someone who had spent a long time by her side.

But something was different. This wasn't the tone of a friend. This was a tone of anger. Or even worse.

"I guess her shame prevents her from responding!" the disrespectful speaker joked to the others.

It was only a single line, but the speaker's lack of respect along with the cruel laughter of the others somehow bothered her. Even with the crushing weight of having her heart ripped out of her chest, the woman's tone upset her. Cecilia was just trying to grieve. She didn't need this. She didn't need anybody. She just wanted to disappear and be forgotten.

The speaker wouldn't relent.

"So this is what you've been reduced to, then?" Cecilia could tell that the woman standing over her was sneering, even with only a pair of sentinel boots in view. "You abandon your post, sully our good name across the ocean, and find yourself weeping on a battlefield?"

The woman's level of scorn leaped tenfold. "For what...that ape wearing a wedding band that matched yours?" the strikingly familiar voice asked disapprovingly. "You chose to leave your people to be with an abomination?"

Smashed to bits by loss, Cecilia couldn't even bring herself to feel anger of her own when she realized the speaker was talking about her husband in such a bigoted manner. In fact, it only made Cecilia feel more feeble and helpless. They had been so close to escaping, and she hadn't been able to do anything to save him. It was her failure; it was her fault.

She tried to push herself up off the ground to find a path to escape. She needed to escape the salt that the speaker was rubbing into her gaping wound. She just needed to crawl to her husband; after that, let whichever unit was assigned to sweep the battlefield for survivors finish her off. As long as his eyes were the last thing she saw, she could pass on from this world content that the two of them had tried their best. They failed, but at least they tried.

"Did you think nobody would notice?" the familiar voice asked spitefully. The woman was speaking more quickly now, and she sounded closer; she must have been bending over. "The medals that Silverwing granted to our sisters were not given away easily; they're treasures to be coveted."

The voice came even closer to Cecilia's head and she could feel the angry heat on her scalp. "Did you think nobody would notice a Silverwing veteran's medal on sale in the private markets of Theramore?"

Recollection filled her with dread. This was too familiar. Medals...Theramore...it all came back to her.

Cecilia had been granted a medal by the Silverwing Sentinels after escaping captivity by the Warsong Outriders at the Mor'shan Rampart. It was supposed to be a symbol of sisterhood or some propaganda ploy like that; to her, it was a signal of her sins and her failure. Her sins as she murdered civilians; her failure as she was caught by a Warsong scouting party. She'd sold it in Theramore...it must have been...nine, maybe ten years ago. She used the money to sail across the ocean to Booty Bay in the first place.

She had no other means to escape the ruination that was her life at the time, and selling it also took the burden of memory off her shoulders. But now, it seemed as though the memories had come back to haunt her.

The speaker dropped to one heavy knee, brushing a bit of dust on Cecilia's long eyebrows. The speaker wouldn't allow her to crawl any more.

"What do you have to say for your betrayal?" the voice hissed acrimoniously. "What do you have to say for throwing away such an honor? For embarrassing our fine women with your behavior in that filthy pirate cove? For consorting with a Horde beast?"

Indignance mixed with shame as Cecilia absorbed the brunt of accusations both true and false. A part of her wanted to cry out, to deny the accusations, to prove the plaintiff wrong. But that part of her wasn't strong enough. Melancholy pressed down on her and thoughts of finding her husband's corpse so she could lay her own next to it remained foremost in her mind.

When Cecilia scrabbled at the dirt, she found a heavy weight pressing cold elven metal into her shoulder. The speaker kept one knee planted in the dirt and the other planted on Cecilia's trapezius muscle, preventing her from moving forward. At last, a small bit of anger did crack through. This person was preventing her from her final achievement: her right to be reunited with Khujand's body in her last moments.

When Cecilia spoke, her voice had a bit more power than she had expected and the pain in her abdomen was minimal.

"Leave me alone," she rasped, trying to crawl around the speaker instead.

This only encouraged the speaker in her cruelty. "Leave me alone?" the woman brayed in an immature, mocking tone. "Leave you alone? You want us to leave you alone? Hah!" The woman's voice was so incredibly degrading, so bitingly spiteful and sarcastic that Cecilia could finally feel her heart beat at a normal speed again after having nearly stopped.

More laughter escaped from the three others standing around her, and Cecilia could sense them all waltzing along, following her as she crawled blindly with her head pointed down. This time the speaker grabbed Cecilia by the shoulder, digging her claw like fingernails in to the fallen widow's deltoid. Cecilia gasped and stopped crawling when the woman drew blood, lowering herself even closer to the ground in order to avoid the sharp pinch.

"Look at you, Isurith. Crawling on your belly like the snake you are." Garlic invaded Cecilia's sense of smell as the speaker leaned in so close that her lips brushed an earlobe bearing a vibrant scarlet braid on one hoop earring; a symbol of what had been lost. "Nothing but a washed up, drugged out traitor whom nobody in the world cares for. You could have been more than this."

"Stop it," Cecilia weakly ordered, wiggling away from the vile fingers intentionally smearing her own blood on the back of her ponytail.

"Stop it? Is that all you have to say?" the snide speaker brayed again. The condescension in her voice couldn't have been thicker as she spoke down to Cecilia like it was a chore. The speaker pulled back and took her hands off Cecilia momentarily, addressing her peers. "Ladies, she wants us to stop it!"

From behind her, Cecilia heard a loud, nasal wheeze as one of her tormenters cackled arrogantly. Images of a silver ponytail and a dirty look during their escape from Ashran upon leaving Draenor flashed through her mind. At Raynewood Retreat and Astranaar she'd seen it again. They'd been had. They'd walked right into a trap.

Stiff, wretched fingers pierced Cecilia's long, braided ponytail harshly and yanked upward.

"Argh!" she cried out as a second hand grabbed her leather top and pulled her into a kneeling position.

Invasive silver eyes glared at Cecilia with pure hatred as she recognized the evergreen hair tied back away from a face permanently wearing a pompous sneer.

Cognition. This was someone Cecilia knew from her former life. Someone who had been her partner in crime. Someone she'd spent thousands of years with. Someone who was once her partner and closest friend.

Someone who had now become her enemy.

"Disgusting!" Gwynneth spat as her eyes burned at Cecilia with pure hatred. "Your glow is gone; you really did burn yourself out on drugs. You fucking dissappoint me."

Releasing her grip, Gwynneth stepped back to take a better look at her catch. Cecilia looked back too, noticing the shoulder tassle of a guild leader and the tabard bearing the war rune. Whispers broke out behind her, followed by laughs as she heard the other sentinels besmirch her honor.

Taking in the full view of things now that she was upright, Cecilia scanned the battlefield. The combination of dark from the night sky and light from the bonfires interfered with her night vision, and she couldn't see beyond ten yards or so. The veritable wall of the forest must have been further than she had anticipated, and all the dead bodies around were either orcs, night elves or humans. Or possibly undead; in this lighting, she wouldn't have been able to distinguish them from the humans. A splintered ballista burned out just at the edge of the fog of war, but beyond that Cecilia could only see devastation.

"Looking for your mongrel?" Gwynneth asked mockingly.

Cecilia's anger seethed. "Don't talk about hi-"

:: _SMACK_ ::

Gwynneth's open handed slap didn't hurt physically, but the stunning lack of respect reminded Cecilia that she still had some honor left. And the fact that she had some left also meant that she could still lose it.

"Watch your infected mouth, you betrayer," barked one of the three members of the guild standing behind her.

Pulse accelerating, Cecilia temporarily forgot her despair as her late husband's honor was besmirched as well. That, more than anything, caused her fists to clench.

Gwynneth interjected before the retired sentinel had a chance to say anything. "What did you think you would do, Isurith? That you could sully our land with your shame, prancing around with your bestiality fetish? Did you think that mate of yours was going to last?"

"He is-"

" _Was_!" Gwynneth interrupted, not allowing her the chance to speak.

Cecilia grit her teeth, but before she could open her mouth, a swift kick met her ribs.

:: _THUD_ ::

"Ah!" she cried as she fell forward into the dirt again, temporarily winded.

Smelling blood in the water, Gwynneth closed in, kneeling close again and patting Cecilia's shoulder as though the bigoted bully were trying to comfort her.

"Did you see your monster as he fell, Isurith?" Gwynneth asked in the most hate filled, sadistic voice imaginable.

"Stop it!"

Gwynneth inched forward while kneeling, letting Cecilia crawl again but making sure to hold her face down on the ground as well, preventing her from any other form of locomotion. The three others followed, laughing and taunting as Gwynneth crawled on her knees and Cecilia crawled on both her hands and her knees.

"Did you see how he fell off his mount completely? How he had nothing at all to break his fall like you did?"

"Stop it Gwynn!" Cecilia exclaimed in a far weaker voice than she'd intended as she gave up trying to stand and continued crawling.

"I bet his head exploded on impact. Splat!" The others doubled over in heartless, terribly callous laughs at their leader's sick joke. "He's probably being eaten by stray dogs-"

"Stop it!"

"-as they drag all the severed ape parts off into the bushes-"

"Stop it! Stop it!"

"-and then piss on the spot where their fellow mongrel died!"

"STOP FUCKING STOP IT GWYNN!"

Gwynneth stopped.

For a short period, the only sound was the light howl of the wind. That, and all the blood rushing through Cecilia's ears.

And then the laughter came.

Shrill, dismissive, proud and condescending all wrapped into one. Gwynneth was quickly joined by her cronies, the four of them leaving Cecilia to pant in the dirt and wonder what was going on.

Gwynneth and one henchwoman each gripped one of Cecilia's arms with the utmost care and pulled her delicately into a kneeling position again. There was no thunder or even change in the air pressure; it couldn't have been raining, and Cecilia wondered where the water came from.

"Oh! This is too much!" Gwynneth cackled in a voice that would make the most devoted pacifist punch her. "Isurith, you have got to be kidding me!"

Confused, Cecilia noticed that all four of the other women had grabbed ahold of her as well, forming a tight box on all sides as they gawked with a sick glee. They didn't appear ready to attack her - not yet, at least. There was something else holding their attention.

Gwynneth grinned ear to ear, exposing the yellowing of her teeth. "Are those...tears?" she asked rhetorically while stroking Cecilia's cheek.

Tears?

Cecilia blinked in her confusion.

And then she felt the tears.

She had only cried four times in her life; four times across a span of twelve thousand years.

Cecilia cried when the Sundering hit, and ninety percent of all people on Azeroth were killed. Cecilia cried when the menfolk left the women on their own to sleep in the Emerald Dream. Cecilia cried when Unelia and Johan returned after a year of exile in the wilderness. And Cecilia cried during a counseling session with Ralo'shan two years ago.

Cecilia was not a crier. It was not part of her personality. But dealing with the loss of her husband and the denial of even seeing that kind, loving face again, Cecilia cried once more - only the fifth time in twelve millennia.

"Aww, is the wittle disgwace sad because hew pet twoglodyte went bye bye?" Gwynneth asked with more passive aggressive scorn than should have been mortally possible.

The four guild members stood up and laughed, neither acting against her nor allowing her to pass. Even through the loss, Cecilia dug deep and found the anger to push back. If this was how things were to end, let her go out fighting.

"Knave!" Gwynneth screamed as Cecilia swiped at the guild leader's face.

The silver haired sentinel grabbed Cecilia's arm with both hands as she tried to rise, controlling her as Gwynneth backed off. One sentinel unseen to Cecilia began repeatedly punching her in the lower back from behind while the third one stood in front of her and grabbed her other arm and one of her ears.

A fourth sentinel Cecilia kicked the back of her leg while the one in front dragged her down by the hair; the silver haired one pushed her forward, completing the process of bringing her down. So hard did she struggle, hoping to at least defiantly force them to hit her again before she went down, but her strength was gone. In slow motion, they forced her to the ground with little trouble, laughing as they pushed her face completely into the dirt.

"Don't hit her in the face or backbone," Gwynneth ordered with an infuriating snicker. "We need her to survive and live with her shame."

Cecilia flipped onto her back and scooted backward when they let go of her, confused as to why they'd taken their hands off of her. Feet scuffled as the sentinels pushed and shoved in order to assume positions around Cecilia, confounding her as to what they were doing. And then...they fell upon her.

They did not even grant her the dignity of defending herself.

Pinning her arms, sitting on her legs, grabbing her roughly by the cheeks to force her to watch as they pelted her with every insult known in Darnassian, they attacked. Blow after blow rained down, though the three took care not to hit her joints or vital parts, merely softening her up at first. They were too fast for Cecilia to fight back, and the silver haired one in particular took psychotic glee to the point of shrieking joyfully while beating on her. By the time they backed off for Gwynneth to take her turn, Cecilia could only watch.

Her former companion and lifelong best friend tilted Cecilia's chin up, forcing her to expose her face. Starting from the bottom, Gwynneth placed her putrid tongue on Cecilia's jawbone and licked upward, drinking her tears. Before Cecilia even had time to cringe in disgust, Gwynneth reared back and grinned evilly, taking her time as she bit, scratched and throttled Cecilia in a gradually increasing crescendo of sadism.

Cecilia must have passed out some point, as the next thing she remembered was being slapped in the face repeatedly while lying on her back; she had been laying on her side when Gwynneth cupped a hand over Cecilia's face to smother her and had somehow flipped over.

Cecilia turned her head to the side as her vision came back into focus. The ground was covered in bits of leather, droplets of blood and one of her own teeth, and her mouth suddenly felt cold as she realized there was air rushing in through the gap in her pearly whites. A grating, nasally voice helped her to regain her grip on the present.

"There's the fucking worthless disgrace," the silver haired sentinel snickered as she rose up from where she'd been pinning Cecilia down and slapping her to wake her up.

The others appeared to be dusting off their armor and inspecting their bruised knuckles, apparently finished with their demented fun. Gwynneth raised an eyebrow and strolled over, watching Cecilia as she sat up.

"So now, there's one more matter of business before we leave you to your humiliation," the guild leader purred.

For the first time in a very long time, Cecilia felt afraid. She disgusted herself to admit it, but she feared Gwynneth. The woman had always been a sociopath; Cecilia just hadn't seen the full extent of it until they served in the Silverwing Sentinels together. The thoughts of what the sick bastard would do to her now had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

Reaching to her belt pouch, Gwynneth fiddled with metal parts as she spoke.

"You know the rules, Isurith," she said in a fake lecturing tone. "Our people have ways of punishing those who sleep with the enemy."

The other sentinels smirked approvingly as metal scraped on metal. Pulling her limp wrist from the pouch, Gwynneth twirled a long pair of scissors in her hand.

All pretense gone, Cecilia actually trembled as she knelt.

All was lost. Her reason for living had been killed. Her dignity had been robbed. Her energy had been sapped. Her body had been brutalized. She had nothing to do and nowhere to hide. If she ran, they'd only beat her again. There was no escape. Gulping visibly, Cecilia admitted defeat. It wasn't a demon lord or an elder dragon that finally downed the once proud huntress. It was her ex best friend.

A fifth shape came into view through the smoke and the fires. One much larger, with two pairs of glowing eyes. Paws kicked up dirt as another night elf huntress approached on her nightsabre.

The other three were startled and Gwynneth very clearly bristled. The newcomer dismounted, still holding her glaive at the ready. As she approached, the others moved out of her way but Gwynneth moved forward to intercept her.

"Get lost," Gwynneth snarled defensively.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" a similarly familiar voice scolded. "Do you have any idea the kind of conflict you've caused?"

"This is none of your-"

"This is very much my business, Gwynneth, as it is the business of all patriotic Kaldorei! You have absolutely no right to carry that banner on your death march!" the irate newcomer yelled while pointing to a lone Sentinel standard planted on a pole among all the dead bodies of various races.

The others gasped as though the verbal attack on their guild leader were some sort of Azeroth shattering insult. The two armored women stared each other down. The newcomer was much shorter, alone and surrounded; the advantage should have been Gwynneth's. But the shorter woman held her ground, her hand resting comfortably on the hilt of an impressive one handed sword in its sheathe. Her entire demeanor was commanding and inspiring, like she were not the least bit intimidated by the demoness in front of her. The wind blew quietly, punctuating the silent standoff.

"This is your last chance, Private Ironwood," Gwynneth spat. "Back off or suffer the consequences."

"Private...Ironwood?" Cecilia whispered under her breath.

It was just then that Cecilia noticed the clipped right ear. Though she could no longer feel any sort of happiness, her misery decreased noticeably.

"Maya..." she murmured wistfully at the demoted former captain.

Dread filled Cecilia once again as she realized a true friend was in danger from a former friend. There was no way Maya could fight all of them herself. Cecilia and her husband were lost; there was no reason why anyone else should be.

"You know the punishment for aiding and abetting the enemy rather well...don't you, Private?" Gwynneth asked threateningly.

"I'm giving you your last chance," Maya stated in defiance.

Gwynneth raised a cocky eyebrow. "Oh...really?" she asked, though her henchwomen didn't laugh at Maya the way they had at Cecilia.

"You have no rank and no position after your discharge, and your guild charter was _rejected_!" Maya burst out to the outraged shock of Gwynneth and her cohorts.

Every muscle in Gwynneth's neck tensed, forming the ugliest sour lemon face in the whole wide world. Her teeth grit audibly as if they'd break, and one of her eyelids twitched. Her followers all froze and stiffened, unsure of what to do.

"That's right; I know, and I told everybody at Raynewood - your guild is unrecognized!" Maya continued defiantly. "You have no jurisdiction, no authority, no anything-"

:: _WHACK_ ::

"No!" Cecilia cried as the silver haired sentinel hit Maya in the back of the neck with a billy club.

The nightsabre growled, but backed down when the sentinels readied their weapons; the big cats were trained not to show aggression toward night elves and the pet seemed confused.

Maya caught herself on her palms before her head could hit the ground, but was too dazed to rise again. The silver haired sentinel held her glaive to the former captain's neck, and one of the henchwomen disarmed her. Though the threat was apparent, Cecilia did notice that they didn't continue hitting Maya, likely due to the fact that Maya still held official rank even if she'd been demoted. Gwynneth, for her part, still appeared miffed by the awful truth about her unofficial 'rank.' That indignation, however, did not prevent her from parading in front of her two captives.

"What a twist!" she gloated, using the most irritating victory voice Cecilia had ever heard. "A former disgrace tries to save our current disgrace. Now she gets to observe the punishment doled out all over again!"

Standing before Cecilia, Gwynneth held out the scissors like a prissy schoolgirl. Cecilia gazed at the shears as an ominous sense of dread filled her, then looked up at Gwynneth's wicked face.

"If you force my hand, so help me Goddess I will clip them both for what you've done," the guild leader hissed as though Cecilia were the villain here. "But if you do the deed yourself...perhaps I'll be magnanimous enough to allow you to keep one intact. Ask Private Ironwood here."

Maya gasped, sincerely struck by the comment. The former captain looked up slowly, finding Gwynneth's lemon sucker sneer combined with the eyelid twitch of a thousand angers. "What? Private Ironwood...you did tell Isurith here that _I_ wasn't the one who did the deed of clipping your ear, right?" she asked, forcing Maya to drop her head back down in shame.

Without even giving her time to react, Gwynneth placed the scissors into Cecilia's hands carefully. Cecilia could see Maya clinching her teeth as the former captain shook the stars out of her head, possibly experiencing some sort of flashback of her own. Holding the shining instrument of torture out in front of her, Cecilia remained so enraptured that even the taunts of Gwynneth's henchwomen evaded her.

So this is it, she thought. This would be the beginning of her end. She couldn't just take the blades and cut her jugular vein; Maya had obviously been racing to reach her, possibly warned about the unsanctioned conflict and having received word at Raynewood that Cecilia was heading right for the combat zone. It wouldn't be fair to her former commander to take her own life after the woman had tried to hard to save her. But living would be unbearable; it seemed like a waste of time. Just let me die, she thought. Even with the sting of Gwynneth's insults and disrespect, Cecilia felt ready to leave this world. It was no use. She'd bear the same mark of shame as Maya in addition to the lack of glow in her eyes signaling past drug addiction. She was stranded on a battlefield with no money, no weapons and no mount, and was almost a week's travel from...that city...where she had once lived with her late husband.

It was too painful to think about. Best to get it over with; Cecilia was done. At least if she cut her own ear off, she could make it as quick as possible.

Cecilia's hands quaked as she fiddled with the scissors, taking as much time as possible. A flinch of phantom pain so awful spread across Maya's face that Cecilia couldn't even look at the woman, only wishing that her friend had never even bothered trying to help her. This wasn't fair to Maya...but it was the easiest way to get the traumatic ordeal over with.

Heart pounding so hard that it jumped into her throat, Cecilia tried to steady her breathing. The silver haired sentinel's nose whistled from her sickening excitement over what they were forcing Cecilia to do to herself. The scissors jiggled as the screws audibly rocked from her hand tremors, and Gwynneth's silver eyes burned even brighter as she appeared to experience some sort of chemical high from the horrifying scene.

Cecilia closed her eyes, wondering one last time what had lead to this...

:: _BANG_ ::

A battering ram collided with a glaive thrower off in the distance, the sound echoing over to them far quicker than it should have.

Five intact pairs of ears plus Maya's one and a half pricked up. Almost immediately, Cecilia dropped her hand as a childish, unrealistic hope gripped her.

"Sisters!" Gwynneth grunted commandingly.

Her underlings were already busy keeping Cecilia, Maya and the nightsabre at bay, and none of them were able to heed the call. Voices grumbled in the background from both sides, approaching fast. All the other women plus the cat stood on edge, with only Cecilia kneeling numbly, her fear draining out of her.

Out of the fog, two sides formed in the distance. A row of Warsong Outrider veterans, many of them clearly drunk, fell into a row of perhaps two dozen. Snarling, spitting and waving their weapons, they seemed to be building up toward some kind of charge as one of their kodo riders began beating on a drum.

Ululating broke out from behind as the rest of Gwynneth's guild members formed a row on the other side, falling into a row roughly equal in number. Stoicism was lost as the night elves appeared unusually edgy, their unsanctioned guild banners matching those of the now disavowed Outriders with an irony likely lost on both sides.

Gwynneth's cronies actually backed off, falling back toward their comrades as they huddled around their leader. Maya's sabre ran to her, licking the reeling former captain's arm as she struggled to stand.

Cecilia was merely an observer now, ignored by all and still paralyzed by the mixture of physical and mental pain swirling around inside. Seconds whizzed by as the two sides taunted each other, battered and bruised but ready for more violence. Tension mounted impossibly high as the two rows faced one another.

Rather than progressing in slow motion, time seemed to speed up. A war horn sounded, though it was not clear from which side. Boots dug into the ground as the two forces charged simultaneously and all hell broke loose. The very ground shook beneath their feet as the aggressors rushed to meet one another, and the wave of sentinels passed Cecilia by, no longer concerned with their former object of torment. All she saw were their armored backs as they dashed by, glaives, spears and shields raised as the bereaved Kaldorei found herself alone in the dirt.

Almost alone.

"Isurith!"

Cecilia looked up as a sword slid into the dirt in front of her. Maya had grabbed a random glaive from a dead body just in time to counter a wild swing by one of their fellow night elves, her usually ferocious sabre unsure of what to do. A second sentinel crept up behind the demoted captain, and Cecilia tried and failed to shout a warning. Her voice was drowned out by the clash of the two sides meeting one another far off to the left, blades scraping shields as they all refused to budge.

Just as it looked too late, the sneaking sentinel was tackled to the ground by a violet colored sabre bearing the markings of a druid, and both the newcomer sabre and Maya cut down their interlocutors only to be set upon by orcs.

Cecilia looked back down at the sword in front of her and then up at Gwynneth standing across from her on an empty, barren, grassless plain. The snide guild leader stood alone in a state of shock, her eyes switching between Cecilia, the sword and her underlings who had abandoned her to meet the enemy.

Their eyes met, and Cecilia's warrior rage burned. Gwynneth was not her friend. She was not her comrade. She was not even truly loyal to their people's ideals.

She was a vain, vindictive, avaricious rat who lived off of other people's suffering. Cecilia's suffering.

Rage turned to hate that rivaled that of Gwynneth herself as Cecilia remembered the look in her husband's eyes as he fell to his death. Remembered all they had struggled to build. Remembered all they had yet to do.

Cecilia was broken. She was aching in more ways than one. She was torn, violated and lost. But as a second wind took ahold of her, she realized that she wasn't done yet. She was broken, but not demolished.

When she gripped the sword, Gwynneth literally jumped, apparently shocked that her captive was still capable of standing. Wielding her own sword, she took a defensive stance and forced out a sneer that was a little less believable than the one that had been smeared on her face a few moments before.

Cecilia rose. Blood dripped from her shoulder and gums, but her shakes were not from fear; they were from the pure murder incarnate flowing through her veins.

She might have been robbed of all she cared for...but that would not prevent her vengeance. She gripped the sword, spat some excess blood from her mouth and the two women charged.


	40. Vengeance

**A/N: extreme gore. I mean extreme even by my standards. Get ready.**

Everything around them was utter chaos.

Metal scraped metal as literally dozens of troops clashed. Sentinels stood shield to shield with raiders, green contrasting to purple as the two sides took part in the slaughter.

The battlefield was quickly stained with blood as hundreds of both Alliance and Horde soldiers stabbed and cut. Even beyond the initial breakaway renegades from Silverwing, a few dozen more general troops from all the races of the Alliance filtered into the fray. Not to be outdone, the Outriders had recruited a few dozen Horde irregulars to their cause, escalating the conflict. Tabards and uniforms of different colors clashed as people attacked without tactics or formation, spells crackling to accentuate the bang of steel. Healers stood just beyond the perimeter of the melee, prolonging the conflict by patching up light wounds as quickly as they could.

And standing just behind it all, two tall Amazonian warriors crashed into each other, engaging in a small war of their own.

:: _CLANG_ ::

Cecilia met Gwynneth at the first blow, crossing swords as they pressed into each other.

"You brought hrrnng...you brought us shame where we had none before!" Gwynneth grunted as the two pressed their weight into their swords.

Curving forward, Cecilia slowly edged Gwynneth backward. Her weight gain since leaving active adventuring worked to her advantage as Gwynneth gave way, not daring to pull her sword away and risk being cut down so early into the duel.

"Us?" Cecilia asked pointedly, a certain spite reentering her voice as revenge gave her a new purpose. "You're not even Silverwing anymore!"

The mockery proved too much for the vain guild leader to take. Crying out shrilly, Gwynneth kicked Cecilia in the side of the knee.

"Garrhh!" she grunted as her leg buckled. Giving up ground to remain upright, Cecilia was knocked back as Gwynneth shoved her off.

Only two meters apart, they stared each other down once again. Two sentinels to the side of them were gored at once by a tauren brave's horns a few meters more away, and a third sentinel beheaded the bovine warrior just as his horns pierced her sisters' armor. The gnashing and the gouging taking place around them went unnoticed as Cecilia looked for an opening.

"You have NO concept of the meaning of LOYALTY!" Gwynneth bellowed as she swung again.

Cecilia parried the shot, allowing her opponent to swing several more times as they danced in strategic circles behind the main field of battle. Gwynneth tapped into what must have been an endless supply of energy, slicing inches away from Cecilia again and again without letting up.

"Loyalty! You call yourself the head of an illegal guild!" Cecilia countered both verbally and physically, pressing Gwynneth's blade into the dirt and hitting her in the neck with an elbow.

Further enraged, Gwynneth shoulder checked the slightly larger woman to create space and swung upward, catching Cecilia off guard long enough to kick her in the shin. Cecilia cried out involuntarily, realizing that the time she'd spent training others to be warriors rather than training herself had eroded some of her ruggedness.

Seeing the opportunity, Gwynneth sucker punched Cecilia's open jaw, ratting her entire skull. Stars danced around and a sharp pain stabbed her actual jaw joint, rocking her entire head and causing her to stumble. Not wanting to fall, Cecilia turned and retreated, spinning back around to meet the sociopath just in time to deflect another blow by crossing swords.

:: _CLANG_ ::

They engaged in a shoving match across their swords again, only this time Gwynneth didn't relent. Rather, she pushed in, and despite her lesser weight began to edge Cecilia toward a trench that had been dug into the dirt of the battlefield. The depth wasn't particularly imposing, but Cecilia knew that if she fell, she'd be cut to pieces before she even had a chance to stand up.

Snorting her inhalation, Cecilia hunkered down and tried to stop Gwynneth's constant forward advance, refusing to even reply to the expected taunts.

"You could have been something, you ingrate!" the foul harpyspawn spat as she breathed garlic into Cecilia's face.

Cecilia tried to dig her heels in, but they skidded backward in the dirt instead. Her back strained as she was reminded of how badly out of shape she'd become over the past six months, and she wrenched on her sore muscles to push back. Two trails were cut into the soil by her heels as she was pushed backward, and she flexed her hamstrings in order to keep her feet level with each other. The strain on her stamina was immense, and she figured that Gwynneth was trying to win by attrition.

"You could have had everything with your sisters! Respect! Glory! Purpose!" Gwynneth's voice was shrill and piercing as she pressed on, seemingly invulnerable to fatigue.

A dwarven mortar team accidentally set off their stockpile in the middle of the battle, causing a minor explosion and setting themselves and several other troops from both sides on fire. Their screams echoed louder than the war horns and many more soldiers were knocked back. Dust and gunpower flew in the wind, which blew the noxious concoction over to the dueling night elves. Cecilia hacked on the smoke while Gwynneth appeared unperturbed and took another cheap shot at Cecilia's unarmored solar plexus.

Absorbing all of the force and giving up her second wind, Cecilia kept her balance and her footing and stumbled to the side instead of straight back. Gwynneth's attacks came too fast, keeping Cecilia permanently on the defensive as she struggled to keep up.

"But you gave up!" Gwynneth screeched while slicing downward toward Cecilia's shoulder, the hatred flashing in her eyes again when her shot was blocked at the last second. "You threw it all away! You abandoned your sisters, your people and your sacred duty! You threw away everything you had, you ungrateful, undeserving WORM!"

The last curse was punctuated with an armored headbutt to Cecilia's cheek, accompanied by a loud thud and a blunt force that caused her eye on that side of her face to water. Temporarily put off balance due to the motion created between her ears, she stumbled back and faltered. In spite of retaining her grip on Maya's sword, she lost her bearings when Gwynneth followed up with another arcing slice that forced Cecilia to defend without proper form and torque her own wrist. Gwynneth rained blow after blow aimed at Maya's sword rather than Cecilia's body, wearing her out rather than actually landing any strikes. Cecilia was knocked this way and that as she desperately blocked the incoming strikes, feeling every muscle in her sword arm tear in the process.

Finally, Gwynneth crossed swords again and pressed down hard, marking a sort of perpendicular cross in between them. Staring daggers better than any backstabbing tavern rogue for hire, Gwynneth reached with her free arm sank her sharp fingernails into the flesh of Cecilia's forearm, squeezing and puncturing until she forced Cecilia to one knee. A deep gutteral growl emitted from her throat as she overpowered Cecilia and hunkered over her, pinning her in place.

"So what do you have! What did you achieve by running away, you worthless piece of trash! You scum, you odious wretch!" Gwynneth focused only on wearing Cecilia out now, both physically by forcing her to carry her weight on the sword and mentally with the perfectly worded insults, all based on comments she knew would hurt Cecilia the most after having been her best friend for millennia. "You left your stupid, miserable self empty HANDED!"

Gwynneth tried for a second headbutt but missed just barely. Regardless, Cecilia felt herself fading as she resisted, the lactic acid building up in every muscle of her body.

She was losing this fight. Gwynneth was younger, stronger, faster, lighter, tougher and somehow still angrier. Cecilia's rotator cuff almost gave out just as her elbow began to burn, and the tendons on the top of her hand strained so loud that her could actually hear them. The meniscus in her only raised knee began to hurt as did her ankle, lower back, and hip flexor on the other side of her body. There was no way she could continue like this; Gwynneth would kill her and she would be denied her revenge. This wasn't working.

"What's happened to you now happened by your own CHOICE!" Gwynneth's cry was punctuated by her sword being pulled from Cecilia's only to be heaved back down again. She could tell Cecilia was losing energy fast and was working her over methodically, aiming only for the sword and not her.

The ground shook in front of them as an orcish wind rider crashed to the ground full of arrows and spears, crushing the sentinels that had killed her in the first place. More troops rushed over to the same spot, both sides stepping on the bodies of their fallen comrades unceremoniously to reach each other.

The shockwave did nothing to slow down Gwynneth's relentless assault. Swinging down repeatedly, she almost knocked the sword from Cecilia's hand on the last shot and that disgusting, sadistic expression of glee spread across her face again. Gwynneth believed that she had Cecilia beat. She thought the fight was over.

Gritting her teeth, Cecilia realized it wasn't over. Not yet. She may not have the energy of Gwynneth, but by the night, she wasn't done yet.

Bracing her knee in the ground, Cecilia accepted the crouching position as one that reduced her own surface area, offering the blade of her sword against Gwynneth's and angling the two weapons in just the right direction. Every single cell of her body cried out in agony, every joint ached and begged never to be used again, but still she held her position. Enraged by the seeming disrespect of her opponent refusing to strike back at her, Gwynneth's eyes widened like a mental patient and the skin of her face pulled tight like something out of a horror novel, or a catalogue of botched facelifts.

"You have NO home!" Gwynneth screeched, emphasizing the word 'no' with another swing against Cecilia's sword each time. "You have NO life! You have NO legacy! NO comrades! NO honor! You have NOBODY! You are NOBODY! You're NOTHING! YOU HAVE NOTHING!"

Maya's sword chipped on the last blow and Cecilia felt Gwynneth's sword cut a notch into the blade, locking both weapons into each other. Gwynneth's sword failed to cut any further through, instead providing an excellent barrier between the two of them. Hateful eyes burned onto Cecilia as the stench of garlic filled the air, and Gwynneth exuded arrogant pride as she rested all of her weight upon the crouching, nearly crumpled up figure beneath her. Her cheeks hung as she glowered, canceling out any of the natural elven beauty the woman might possess when at rest and just making her look like a sick minded, blood starved vampire countess.

Cecilia smirked over her grit teeth. She still had a card up her sleeve.

"I have...hrrnn...something you don't, Gwynn..." Cecilia urked out, ignoring the pain from her pulled bicep when she stiffened up to hold position in their death stare.

Almost distracting her, two units of cavalry crashed into each other without even really trying to strike skillfully anymore. Were it not for the fact that the frost wolves and night sabres immediately started to eat each other, it almost would have been comical, and the huntresses and raiders scrambled to slice and stab each other in a frenzy of pure offense.

Unmoved by Cecilia's subtle taunt, Gwynneth was too driven to focus, thinking victory was already in her grasp. Power radiated from her lighter yet fitter body, and as she continued to push down on Cecilia's sword, Cecilia felt like it might as well have been one of the tauren warriors pushing on her. A victorious yet psychotic expression plastered itself on Gwynneth's furious face.

"WHAAAAAAAT?!"

One of the Forsaken summoned an infernal in the middle of the battlefield but quickly lost control of it, being squashed by the rampaging demon that now terrorized both sides. Mayhem ensued if only to offset the stoicism of the two women glaring at each other off to one side. Fel fire filled the late night sky along with the natural bonfires, similarly interfering with Cecilia's vision.

But it didn't matter. None of that mattered. She'd set a trap of her own.

Grinning back at Gwynneth with an equal level of cruelty but much more righteousness behind it, Cecilia allowed her opponent to push until they drew close. A third and final wind filled her aching body again, not granting her that explosive power she'd need to spring up; just enough energy for her to hold her ground, and to prevent Gwynneth from toppling her over and climbing on top of her. The two of them came almost nose to nose, several thousand years of acidic friendship and emotional abuse exploding on its own.

Cecilia sucked air in through the gap in her teeth, braced herself...and made Gwynneth realized that the unrecognized guild leader had let her guard down.

"Scissors."

Wind blew away the smoke from a dwarven gyrocopter that exploded above the battlefield when hit by goblin rockets, lighting up the area as though it were day and raining shrapnel down on the rows of night elf huntresses and orcish raiders pushing against each other in futility. When the smoke cleared, Gwynneth's head was lit up by two surprised silver orbs that were her eyes. All the arrogance and triumph drained out of those two eyes in a matter of seconds, the sense of loss hitting what had formerly seemed like a female satyr harder than the Deeprun Tram. No matter how righteous Cecilia felt, a sense of her own sadism welled up to see the hope and the sense of victory leave those two evil eyes, to see the woman whose friendship had left her with post traumatic stress disorder suddenly feel as if all she'd worked for had been robbed.

All of that was spoken, all of that was told by Gwynneth's two silver eyes. Like a child whose ice cream cone had fallen to the ground less than a minute after paying, a feeling of unfairness radiated from Gwynneth...and this time, Cecilia wasn't magnanimous enough to refrain from gloating.

The eyes of Gwynneth saw the faded, nearly nonexistent glow of Cecilia's.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw the victorious smirk on Cecilia's lips.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw the lack of tension in Cecilia's neck.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw the relaxation in Cecilia's shoulders.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw Cecilia's left arm that had been strangely absent during the entire duel.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw Cecilia's left elbow bent at just the perfect angle to strike when it hadn't up until now.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw Cecilia's left wrist so limply cradling a shiny object.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw Cecilia's fingers curled around fine steel finger holes.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw two shears attached by a screw.

Then the eyes of Gwynneth saw the blades open up just before they all collided...

...

...

...

...and then...

...

...

...

...

...

...the eyes of Gwynneth saw no more.

" **MMMRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA**!"

Both of Gwynneth's eyeballs were sliced in half in the most stomach turningly disgusting way describable. She fought to keep her grip on her sword, but could no longer push as the notch that she'd hacked into Maya's blade prevented Gwynneth from pulling her own out. Cecilia pushed forward until she felt the scissor shears scrape against the bone surface at the back of Gwynneth's eye sockets, pushing against the two indentations in the face of her skull and forcing her to give up ground.

Pitiful cries escaped Gwynneth's mouth, though not clearly as she had bit down on her lower lip so hard that her fangs pierced her own skin and got stuck, preventing her mouth from opening all the way. In one final movement, Cecilia snipped the scissors shut, cutting a horizontal gash through the bridge of Gwynneth's nose and leaving her blood to mix with mucous as it all dripped from her nostrils like a faucet. She dropped her sword, screaming like a banshee and cupping her face with her hands as Cecilia did nothing and watched her crumple into a heap in the dirt, bleeding to death in front of her.

A shrill cry to the side informed Cecilia that her revenge was not yet complete.

"Commander Gwynn!" whined a nasally voice.

Murder in her eyes, Cecilia snapped her head to the side and gave the silver haired guild quartermistress a death stare so hard that the conniving woman literally stopped in her tracks. The battle raged in the background, but the sneaking spy that had been shadowing them ever since they entered Ashenvale - perhaps ever since they'd left Draenor via Ashran - had somehow broken free from the melee.

Her obvious loyalty to a guild that didn't even exist in the legal sense conflicted with her rationality and she froze. Stalking slowly and with purpose, Cecilia marched forward three times as fast as the silverhead's backtracking speed and quickly closed the gap.

"You...y-you sullied our-"

The coward's protest was cut off as Cecilia gripped Maya's sword with both hands and swung. The silverhead tried to parry with her glaive, only to have her weapon mangled, the metal of her bracer torn and her elbow unnaturally twisted.

:: _CLANG_ ::

"Ow!" she yelped pathetically as Cecilia caused her to double over.

Reaching for her dagger, the silverheaded quartermistress was met with Maya's sword hilt to her other elbow, knocking it from her hands and effectively immobilizing her. Once more striking with the hilt, Cecilia hit the woman in the throat, nearly causing her eyes to pop out of her head as she vomited up blood, reeled and fell backward into the dirt.

Cecilia watched as the quartermistress scrabbled to crawl backward, and kept on stalking her the whole way. The woman reached a palm out defensively, begging Cecilia's mercy.

"W-w-wait! This was all a b-big misunderstanding!" The quartermistress' voice was as pathetic as it was rushed. "We had the wrong idea, we were only trying to secure the NO!"

She literally curled into a ball as Cecilia raised Maya's sword and brought it down, plunging it into the woman's long, braided silver ponytail, pinning her head down into the ground. She only had a split second before Cecilia planted her knee on the woman's chest the way her husband had taught her to do in order to painfully (illegally, in Kaldorei lands) restrain people and punched the silverhead right in the mouth.

"Argh! Wait! Wait! Thissssrm!"

:: _WHAM_ ::

"You were the one who led the group that attacked us at Ashran!" Cecilia growled while hitting the woman in the nose, and a crack was heard as the cartilage broke.

:: _WHAM_ ::

"You were the one who followed us from Raynewood!" Cecilia hissed as she punched the spying quartermistress flush across the face again, eager to release her remaining anger before the emptiness following revenge set in.

:: _WHAM_ ::

"Stoooop! Stoooop!" the silverhead screamed into the night, though her cries were unheard over the wave of goblins and gnomes swarming over the night elves and orcs, largely to no effect other than annoying the opposing side.

Cecilia grabbed the woman's wrist with her worn out sword hand, controlling her to physically vent her own anger with her less tired arm.

:: _WHAM_ ::

:: _WHAM_ ::

:: _WHAM_ ::

:: _WHAM_ ::

"Pleeeaase!" the silverhead begged, her face swollen and cut. "Don't - ack!"

Stomping on the woman's stomach for good measure, Cecilia turned to listen to a rather loud noise. All of the battle was loud, but one sound in particular was nearly deafening. She glanced around, at first failing to notice the source of the loud rumble and the quaking ground around them. Gargoyles clashed with owls in the air, sending sonic booms as the two sides screeched at each other. Two formerly living but now undead humans who had been raised as death knights bellowed as they fought each other, indistinguishable aside from the Alliance and Horde tabards they respectively wore. A gang of pandaren clashed, none of them clearly marked as members of either faction and all of them wailing on each other all the same.

No, none of those people were causing the noise. The ground vibrated beneath Cecilia's feet and pebbles and dust were kicked up in the air, all of it accompanied by a sound similar to a goblin engineered lawn mower. Finally, she was able to hone her sense of earing despite the fact that the noise seemed to come from everywhere at once, looking to the left of the immobilized quartermistress.

About thirty yards away, a massive Forsaken corpse carrier rolled toward them. Filled with razor sharp protrusions and a rotating cylinder full of spikes, the infernal contraption was steamrolling the entire battlefield, sucking up dead bodies and injured combatants alike and fertilizing the ground with a spray of misty gore. Atop it sat a skeleton wearing a tuxedo, which made absolutely no sense at all but that didn't really seem too out of place given the rest of the battle. The well dressed driver wasn't concerned with the two squabbling Kaldorei at all, focusing instead on the rows of his friends and foes alike behind the two of them in the distance. The large, spiked cylinder forming the front wheel ripped up the soil as the war machine gained speed.

Cecilia rose, unable to grin as the emptiness of her personal loss grew but reveling one last time in the justice being served.

The silver haired villain felt the vibrations in the ground and gazed upon the coming undead steamroller. What felt like an event far too short for Cecilia likely seemed like an eternity to the quartermistress, and she flopped around while trying to dislodge the sword from her single hair braid. Because both of her elbows were dislocated, she couldn't even reach for the sword properly, much less pull it out of the ground (and her hair), leaving her to watch as the corpse carrier bulldozed a path toward her.

"Waaaaaiiiittt!" she cried while reaching toward Cecilia with one of her useless arms. "It was all a big misunderstanding, I swear!"

A primal scream erupted from her as she recalcitrantly refused to accept the inevitable. Cecilia only walked away, hearing the gross crunches as the undead corpse carrier sucked the woman's body up as more fel fuel for its destructive rampage. Promptly forgetting all about the melancholy, battered elf, the corpse carrier's skeletal driver ignored Cecilia as it brushed some strands of silver hair from its tuxedo and drove toward the main flash point of the battle.

None of that interested Cecilia by that point. In her heart, she truly understood now that anybody who claimed revenge wasn't worth it was a fool; having slayed her tormentors, she felt an incredible sense of justice that didn't diminish, and surmised that her soul would have wandered the planet as a banshee had Gwynneth and the quartermistress escaped. However, all of that was over...the fight was over...her life was over. Skulking away, she found an empty spot buried in the fog of war, away from the shouts and strikes that seemed to echo from all directions. The end was something she needed to be alone for.

The smoke from the fires both natural and magical swirled around her and even partially obscured the sky, allowing only the brightest of stars to break through faintly. Silhouettes of combatants flitted by as everyone ignored the shaken elf standing alone in the middle of a flat expanse. At least she could have some semblance of peace in her final moments.

So this was her end, she supposed. Twelve thousand years crowned not with blissful coupling in a civilian household, but bloodied on a battlefield as she had always expected up until a year and a half ago. It should have felt befitting. Cecilia had been a warrior of the night for almost all of her life. There shouldn't have been any regret about the way things ended. She'd put down a threat to regional peace and would die a fighter's death; she should have felt content.

And yet she didn't. Her heart just couldn't accept it. For all the prior millennia, the past eighteen...well, now, twenty months had been the best of Cecilia's life by far. For someone who had lived for so long, that was a huge statement. She had been truly happy. It wasn't supposed to end this way. It was supposed to end with a husband, with children, with close friends, with picnics and camping trips.

Yet now it would end with bereavement, loss and anonymity among a sea of corpses. And for that, Cecilia felt too disappointed to even cry again.

Numb from the injustice and at rest from having completed her revenge, she searched the smoke and fog for her end.

After some time, she saw it.

A massive, hulking figure stood perhaps thirty yards away, eyes burning with fel magic as the haggard soldier stared her down. Broad shoulders lined its hunched over figure, accentuated by six arrows sticking out of the beast's hide. It walked awkwardly as though every single joint had been dislocated and then relocated, and its body heaved as though it were held together by broken bones. The beast's visage would have been enough to stop even the most stalwart sentinel in her tracks.

Taking long, plodding strides, the monster lurched straight for her, and Cecilia made no effort to escape. She had a vendetta against Gwynneth and her quartermistress for robbing her of what she held most dear. Beyond them, she no longer cared. Let the inevitable run its course.

The monster slowed only for a second as it heaved its weight. Battle ravaged, it appeared worse for wear as it finally broke through the fog. Two glowing red eyes shone through the dark, illuminating the ground in front of its path like a pair of search lights. Not even a light headed tingling sensation could break through her numbness as Cecilia stood, chapped lips parting only slightly as she blew away smoke. Stinging eyes struggled to hone in on her sluggish attacker, the desire to see the killing blow as it hurtled toward her lingering within. The heavy steps of besandaled feet set down hard enough for her to feel the vibrations through her own feet. One huge palm large enough to crush a coconut like nothing reached forward; perhaps it would simply crush her skull and get things over with. Two fingers and a thumb opened up to take her, and the red glow cast its light on a long mane and a short beard of the same color.

Cecilia felt her heart stop just at the same moment that her lungs constricted inward. Almost every vital sign caught in time as her mind obliterated itself, utter shock and confusion causing her brain to reject the claims of her eyes. Throat itching, she tried to speak, to say how impossible it was, but no words escaped from her mouth.

The vice grip closed around her arm, but with a gentle touch that was warm to the point of being hot. Texture smooth like leather, the enormous figure guided her over to it, blotting out anything else in her field of vision. She could already feel herself shaking at the sight of him, unable to process what she was seeing.

But it was him. From clipped tusks to unblemished, unscarred hide, it was him.

She held on to him for dear life, ready to accept the image even if it were a hallucination. A whimper may or may not have escaped her lips - hearing temporarily left her - as she buried her face into his chest, the necklace bearing sixteen relics of her own most difficult hunts clinking before her. That familiar strong heartbeat rang so soundly that she could feel the vibrations in her face, and the rumble of his lungs followed the same rhythm it always did. Her toes left the ground if only for a split second as everything else melted away, nothing at all in existence save the two hearts beating in unison. Despite her frazzled nerves, despite her residual anger at the ones who tried to take him away from her, despite the still fresh blood on her hands reminding her of the fighter she was, there was no place she wanted to be at that moment except in his arms.

An exploding shell twenty yards away from their spot reminded her of where they were as well, but she couldn't move on until she knew. Everything felt so real - he felt so real - but she had to be sure.

"How?" Cecilia managed to choke out as she gazed into those eyes that were far less worried than they should have been given the circumstances.

Humming his approval, Khujand winced in pain only once as he gave her a smile so warm that it could have melted the ices of Northrend. "I survived."

As if the contrasts couldn't become any more stark, she literally giggled as his answer before pressing again. "But how?" she asked more pointedly as she scratched the base of his scalp next to his mane.

Breaking out into what could almost be described as a wry grin, he didn't torture her or deny her the information she sought, but did hesitate like it were painful for him to talk. "I hexed myself."

She blinked at him for a moment, trying to will the stupor away though only with great effort. Just when she was about to ask again, he took the hint that his words weren't clear.

"After I fell off tha hippogriff but before I hit tha ground, I cast my hex spell on my own self for tha first time," he elaborated. "I turned inta a pigeon and just hung out in a tree till tha spell wore off."

Were it not for the mounting piles of bodies around them, she may have laughed again, but time was of the essence. "Why are you hurt, then?" she inquired calmly in regard to his apparent discomfort when walking, her wits coming about her again as she was reassured of the reality by the story that kind of, sort of, maybe made sense.

"Cause I hexed myself," he replied as a blademaster and demon hunter decapitated each other simultaneously and fell to the ground in unison dangerously close to the couple.

Ignoring the blood elf paladin frustrating everyone by constantly recasting divine shield on himself without actually fighting, Cecilia tilted her head to signal that Khujand's explanation still left more to be explained.

"Hex isn't like a druid shiftin'," he said in a similarly uncanny calmness. "A shadow hunter isn't technically supposed ta do it ta themselves; it's an offensive spell. Every bone in ya body gets broken and reset." He leaned in a little closer as though he were telling her a secret. "Bein' hexed _hurts_. A lot."

Their attention was caught by commotion behind them, and they turned only long enough to see a group of Alliance and Horde soldiers all jump away from a small figure in the middle. Opening his jacket, a goblin suicide bomber revealed his dynamite belt only long enough to detonate it, proving nothing more than that war is hell and that he was a fucking idiot, punctuating the futility of it all by the fact that nobody on either side was left standing by the blast. On either end of a small gully where the body parts lay, banners for both factions - one blue and gold and the other red and black - caught fire. The fabric crumpled into nothing as the insignias of both Alliance and Horde burned away by the hands of those who carried them, eliciting not an ounce of emotion from either Cecilia nor Khujand as two archaic representations of the world's suffering withered away.

They were safe for the time being, but for how long, she did not know.

"We need to find a way out," she said in a monotone voice that still bore a sense of urgency. "When we fell, it seemed as though we were toward the southwest end of the field."

"Tha hippogriffs are alive," he answered quickly.

Her eyes shot wide. "What? How?" she exclaimed.

"I had enough mana left for resurrection, but not for a full healin'. I brought them back ta life but they aren't capable of flyin' and maybe not even of carryin' more than our stuff." He began fiddling with something small and bundled up in his miraculously undamaged backpack. "Ya mama's lance is intact."

"I'm more concerned about my mother's daughter and son-in-law," she managed to find the energy to joke as she looked around for an exit. Far off in the distance, she saw a break in the fog and bonfires. There were a few troops skirmishing, but if they remained distracted by each other then it just might be possible to sneak out. "Over there!" she cried while pointing. "We have to go!"

"Wait, not yet!" he answered.

"Khujand, we have to go now!" she yelled while trying to pull the big lug by the arm. He was working hard on unfurling whatever it was in his hands. "What are you doing!"

He turned, and smeared on his face was the sappiest, mushiest smile he'd ever given her, his hairless eyebrows arched humbly as he presented her with something he must have been hiding. In his hands lied a fine cloak and cowl traditionally worn by Kaldorei archers. The silk embroidery was unblemished and hadn't even been wrinkled while staying hidden in Khujand's backpack. Obviously handmade by Aeolynn, the stitching was so superb that Cecilia didn't even notice the bullet that whizzed right between her and her husband's noses as she admired it. A loose tassle was tied around the shoulders and the hood had the same cute little ear holes she had always envied whenever Unelia wore one of these garments on longer hunts. But the entire outfit had been tailored to her size, and she had a rough flashback of her husband taking her measurements in Astranaar while she was half asleep which she had assumed was only a dream at the time.

Holding the cloak before her with two exhausted but loving hands, he gave her the most unassuming smile that could be mustered while a blizzard spell was slamming into the ground around them. "May I?" he asked innocently.

"Oh...Khujand..." she answered breathlessly, somehow smiling in an even sappier and mushier way than he was.

He opened the cloak up and she reached one hand forward daintily, feeling the smooth softness of the silk on her bare arm at the same time the blizzard was melted away by a warlock's rain of fire spell. He slid the cloak all the way up to her shoulder, and she crooked her other arm back to meet the armhole as a far seer cast a chain lightning that bounced through his enemies and then accidentally back on himself. She slid her other arm in and turned to face her husband so he could fasten the tassle around her neck, leaning in after he finished and ran a knuckle along her cheek. He slipped the hood so carefully over her head, taking so much care to angle her unclipped ears into the cute little ear holes, that he didn't even wince when a seventh arrow embedded itself in his hide. She reached up and tried to take his considerably larger hands in hers, almost too enraptured to remember her friend.

"Oh...Khujand, Maya is here! And she isn't alone!" Cecilia looked all around, suddenly filled with concern for her former commander now that she was sure her husband was okay.

Before either of them could say another word, a violet sabre limped over to them, favoring one paw as it hunkered down close. Green swirls surrounded the obvious druid and when the mist cleared, Sodor, the feral druid from Raynewood who had confronted Khujand, stood before them while clutching a broken arm.

"Sodor?" Cecilia asked incredulously.

"Maya sent a messenger for me as soon as she heard that the two of you were traveling in this direction," he replied, trying to cast a rejuvenate spell that fizzled out due to a lack of mana. "We have to go."

"Preachin' ta tha choir!" Khujand responded as though they were friends, and Sodor almost - but not quite - smiled at the comment.

Not a second passed before Maya rode in through the fog, both her and her actual sabre a little worse for wear but otherwise in much better shape than the other three. She dismounted and Cecilia noticed that the captain turned private had lost her shield and all her weapons.

"We have to go!" Maya exclaimed.

Withholding another joke - Cecilia could always tell - Khujand became serious. "I think I might have enough mana for my big voodoo spell...it can protect us for awhile, but that only solves one of our problems."

"Don't you have any wards? No totems?" Sodor asked with concern.

"I'm kinda not in tha condition ta carry much right now," the jungle troll answered apologetically. "I just got some potions and some cheese in my pack, here."

"What - cheese!" Sodor blurted out, already becoming heated. "Why on Azeroth would we need-"

"At attention!" Maya ordered, her natural ability as a captain shining through even after her demotion. "I saw a path in the forest straight to the south. If we can make it-"

Stopping mid sentence, the captain glanced at something behind the others, and Cecilia turned to see the shadows closing in. Numerous silhouettes formed a circle around them, seemingly amplified by the ambient light from the bonfires breaking through the putrid smoke. The five of them - three elves, a troll and a sabre - formed a diamond as their backs brushed against one another. They were unarmed, unarmored aside from Maya and outnumbered by contingents of both Alliance and Horde troops that had finally taken notice of them.


	41. Super Smash Sisters

The five fighters formed a diamond as their backs brushed against one another, facing down the troops that had suddenly found them, preparing for the worst. Maya was wearing her armor and her wounded sabre still had teeth and claws, but Cecilia, Khujand and Sodor were too injured to be of much help. Khujand had mentioned that he still had some mana left, but how much, Cecilia could not be sure.

On one side, a line of orc grunts, tauren braves, undead deathguards, troll headhunters and blood elf sentries lined up, focusing their anger more on Khujand than anyone else.

As if to punctuate the fact that racial loyalties had taken precedence over all logic and reason, a number of night elf sentinels, huntresses, druids and a few treants lined up on the other, brandishing their blades as they glared at Cecilia, Maya and Sodor.

The tabards were either of the Outriders or the late Gwynneth's illegal guild. This was a conflict by rogue factions, and in the absence of any outside authority, there were no rules. There was bucking and braying from both sides, their angry stares dousing any hopes of escape for the five forming a diamond in the middle.

"Sodor, can you shift?" Cecilia asked.

"Not for a while, no," the druid replied. "Can you voodoo?" Sodor asked Khujand as though the word were a verb.

"Nope. Maya, anythin' at all?" Khujand took his turn asking.

"I wasn't carrying any extra weapons and I think Empress has a bruised rib," she armored elf said while motioning to her sabre.

The big cat growled, though the fear was apparent in its voice as the soldiers closed in, taking their sweet time as they stalked.

"We're not done yet," Cecilia said angrily. "We came this far. We can't stop now!"

An exceptionally scarred druid of the talon stepped forward, his gnarled fingernails even longer than Maya's as the dark man leaned on his staff. Magic of the balance crackled in his palm as darkly and forebodingly as any fel demonic energy and he snorted his contempt through his hook nose. Angry amber eyes burned at Sodor as the man bared his canines, rage burning at his fellow druid who had refused to join their quest to reignite interfactional tensions.

What appeared to be a miniature tornado began to twirl in the dark man's open palm, almost toying with them as it remained small in stature rather than ripping through them like it probably could have. Beaded necklaces and hippogriff feather earings clacked as the Kaldorei behind him met the war cry of the bellowing orcs on the other side, the two avaricious sides feeding off of each others' negative energy.

They were all so focused that the crow druid didn't even notice the huge silhouette behind him.

:: _CLANK_ ::

A boat anchor fell from the sky, knocking the crow druid and three sentinels lifeless with a single blow as the others scattered. The Horde members actually stood in some kind of stupor, not even moving as the first few shots rang out from atop the giant figure's dinosaur head.

:: _BANG_ ::

:: _BANG_ ::

:: _BANG_ ::

:: _BANG_ ::

Two grunts, a headhunter and a huntress all fell dead as two electrically green eyes glowed from atop the giant wielding an entire freaking boat anchor like it weighed nothing.

Chaos ensued as troops on both sides once again ignored the five fighters forming a diamond in the middle to focus on a new threat surrounding them. One of the night elves tried to shift into what could have been either a bear or a sabre - it was hard to tell, as someone almost as big as Khujand cut the man in half while he was halfway through his shift, leaving two pieces of a half elf, half furry animal abomination bleeding on the battlefield. The last of the Forsaken deathguards had their exposed skulls cleft by a swordsman moving like a human but radiating an aura of undeath as powerful as theirs at the same time that a massive tauren brave dropped his totem and ran screaming with a bolt from a rivet gun stuck in the back of his neck.

"Khujand, cast the big, bad voodoo!" Cecilia shouted in reference to the signature spell of Shadow Hunters that had long been banned by the Horde in favor of shamanism.

Following her order, her husband began to rock back and forth, up and down, side to side the best he could given his extensive injuries, and fel runes dating back to the Gurubashi Empire glowed up from the ground. Maya and Sodor became visibly uncomfortable at the combination of white and black magic surrounding them but huddled closer all the same, watching as arrows soared toward the group of five but disintegrated into dust the second they passed over the runes burned into the ground by Khujand's dance celebrating life and death.

The battle raged all around them, and all the five could do was observe and hope the spell lasted until the combatants had all killed each other. A ukelele rang out into what could have been the very late twilight or the early morning as the voice of a dwarf wove a somewhat cheesy tale of blood and thunder, singing to the rhythm of the rifle firing from the shoulders of the anchor wielding giant. Throwing daggers flew left and right and embedded themselves square in the foreheads of both raiders and knights, followed by a shock of braided crimson hair and the sultry laugh of a Darkspear woman. Swords, knives, bullets and a boat anchor were punctuated by the holy smite of the holy Light burning into the enemy troops along with the unpleasant screeching of a rivet gun and its victims.

As if to write the full stop on the final paragraph of a bizarre story, every Alliance and Horde soldier still alive at that point dropped their weapons and gazed in fear upon a relatively small figure. Through the mostly dissipated smoke, a diminutive, five and a half foot gnoll sauntered into the middle of the battlefield, wielding nothing but a Steamwheedle shipyard guard's mace as he repeatedly slapped it against an open palm.

Fearless night elf sentinels and unflinching orc grunts alike all froze for a few seconds at the sight of the small, furry hyena man with a psychotic looking grin. One of the remaining blood elf spellbreakers was the first to speak.

"Holy shit it's Meatball!" she cried out as she planted both hands on her cheeks almost comically.

Realizing that this really was the famous gnoll brawler whose awful reputation always preceded him by a good fifteen miles, the remaining Outriders and Gwynneth's cronies turned tail and fled not from the group of adventurers killing them like it was going out of style...but from the five and a half foot gnoll.

"Run, run for your lives!" the last night elf warden shrieked as everyone but the adventurers scattered.

Meatball ran after the largest group of them, jumping up and down and screaming obscenities in Low Common as he chased away the last of the fleeing agitators.

Khujand's mana was spent just as the smoke cleared, revealing a battlefield empty of aggressors and littered with corpses, shrap metal and wood and sabatoged war machines. The early morning sun shone down on the exhausted group and Cecilia tried to catch her husband just as he fell to one knee.

The nine remaining figures closed in on the five, walking with their weapons at ease as though there was nothing to fear. Meatball was off scrambling for discarded gold coins on the battlefield, and the two bright eyed figures atop the not so jolly green giant were the first to reveal themselves after descending - Cecilia had trouble seeing in the daylight and couldn't make out anyone's faces from afar.

"Cici!" screamed Irien as she ran forward and tackled the winded former sentinel, becoming so excited that she actually kissed Cecilia on the cheek.

"Ouch! I just got done with giving and taking a series of furious beatings, get off me!" Cecilia shouted - though affectionately - as her back hit the dirt.

Anushka hit the dirt too, though not because she tackled anybody. Tripping over literally nothing, the clutz flopped down and ended up even dirtier than the two best friends struggling on the ground. "Savings!" Anushka burst out while choking on dust. "My first battlings and I savings you!"

Much of Cecilia's apprehension had already filtered out of her - the remaining fighters had made no attempt to attack them, and thus they obviously weren't hostile. That they all turned out to be familiar faces, however did come as somewhat of a shock. In this forsaken battlefield - no offense to Valmar - of all places, she would have expected, at most, perhaps official Kaldorei or Horde authorities putting a stop to the fighting. Yet nearly their entire circle of friends were there, donning armor and weapons most of them had hung up about the same time Cecilia and Khujand had in exchange for a civilian lifestyle.

Cecilia accepted Irien's help to stand up and looked all around her. Tyron and Valmar were sheathing their swords as Elizra was doling out healing spells to anyone who had been hurt. Vegnus had stopped singing but was still strumming his ukelele, much to the delight of the beaming gnoll brawler. Sonja collected her throwing knives from the skulls of fallen enemies while Erikur chainsmoked casually as though he hadn't just literally bored holes into people's heads with a power tool. Even Ghorlash, surly as one would expect from an overweight naga brute, looked upon Cecilia and Khujand with an obvious sense of relief on his reptilian face as he shouldered a boat anchor that Meatball had probably helped him steal before coming.

Cecilia's heart pounded with a mixture of so many emotions - all of them positive - that she needed to lean on Irien to remain standing. "What...you're all...what?" was all she could manage to say.

"Your last letter from Astranaar arrived five days after you sent it," Elizra began.

"We heard about the Warsong Outriders reunion moving north from the Crossroads," Vegnus continued.

"And tha agitation by a guild run by a certain former Silverwing Captain named Gwynn," Sonja added.

"We did the math and knew you would most likely be passing through the border at the same time that the two subfactions clashed," Tyron said, forming a semi circle of explanation that followed a natural order.

"We left as soon as we realized you'd both be in danger," Valmar said, rounding out the circle. "It seems that we arrived just in time."

Neck slightly sore from all the rotation, Cecilia was struck speechless. Her friends really had arrived just in the nick of time. Although Khujand did survive the fall and they had Maya and Sodor (and Empress) with them, they could not have survived the final assault by themselves. Their multiracial, nonfactional group of friends had ultimately saved their lives.

Cecilia thought her husband had been murdered. She thought she was going to die herself in a crash, and then in the dirt alone when her sociopathic former best friend attacked her in her moment of weakness. She thought she'd die anonymously after being emptied by revenge, and then at least with her husband and two old friends after having fought so hard.

But she didn't die. After one of the most stressfull hours of her entire life, she was still there, still alive, still surrounded by the ones she loved. And as she grabbed both Irien and Anushka and pulled them close, the emotions she once thought had been lost overwhelmed her. Tears fell again and she didn't even bother counting which time in her life it was because - as she finally understood - tears were okay. They didn't make her weak or overdramatic. They were just a form of release she had a right to indulge in during such situations. One after another, she hugged them all, pulling them close without even paying attention to who it was. Even Ghorlash despite him having scales and being kind of wet all the time.

These were her people, and Ratchet was her new home. Her crowning achievement after twelve thousand years was a group of people who would drop everything for her and travel for days based only on a simple worry. And that, more than anything, made her glad that the tears flowed.

When she pulled away they were still surrounding her and she didn't feel embarrassed for it. Vegnus stopped playing for a moment to leap in the air with Meatball for a high five, and Elizra stepped forward to introduce everyone to Maya and Sodor, making sure nobody was left out. Cecilia felt Khujand's arms wrap around her from behind and she leaned back into his heat, closing her eyes for a moment as she breathed deep and enjoyed just being alive.

Opening her eyes once more, she gazed up at the early morning sky as her friends all became acquainted with one another and made jokes about who had the most interesting methods of killing bad guys. Up in the azure ceiling of the world that was the same color as her husband's hide, Cecilia saw the moon. It was a full moon, still out even during the early morning sunlight.

She remembered her first visit to a temple of Elune in ten years with her sister back in Astranaar. Cecilia still didn't quite understand what it all meant and she still rejected much of the officially sanctioned scripture, but she dug deep and was honest with herself. Wiping away the last tear as she hugged on to Khujand's arms, she smiled at the moon above, knowing that something was out there, even if she didn't quite understand what it was.

"Thank you," she whispered to it, feeling a warmth there she had thought absent before.

Once she and her husband were done basking in what was technically their third chance at life, they returned to their friends. They apparently had spent more time skygazing than they had thought because everyone else had already made plans for the trek back to the Mor'shan Rampart.

Irien approached them and was the first to speak, using a low voice as she blocked Cecilia from view of the others.

"Are you...alright to go?" the sharpshooter asked. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm just fine. I don't think I could be any better." Cecilia half laughed and half sobbed for the last time, flattered by the concern for her from the best friend she often treated like a little sister or even some sort of a neice.

"If you say so. We know the two of you must have had a hell of a night."

Once more, Cecilia let out a deep, hearty laugh that Irien shared, and she could feel Khujand's chest rumble against her back. Elizra, clearly mana burned, ambled up to them along with Vegnus.

"Alright, we're not out of the clear yet, friends," the worgen woman said while readjusting the kerchief over her head. "Some of the cowards are still out there and you never know about any stragglers. The local authorities have either been killed or scared off; we can't linger and we need to inform law enforcement on both sides."

"We'll handle that from our end," Maya said confidantly as she joined the circle of friends as well. "We'll see you back to Mor'shan; I believe that's where Valmar and Sonja smuggled you through."

"That's right," Irien and Elizra replied at the same time.

"They smuggled you all through the Mor'shan Rampart?" Cecilia asked only slightly shocked. She'd been surprised by so much that night that it was difficult to surprise her any more.

"That'd be a story in and of etself," Vegnus chuckled while grinning along with Irien.

Elizra wiped sweat from her furry brow. Her perspiration was likely from all the excess healing, but her actual fatigue seemed to be a reaction to the mention of the Horde border checkpoint. "It's a story that isn't finished yet, seeing as all our flying mounts are there."

The conversation skipped a beat and Irien shot Cecilia another concerned look, though she brushed it off. The others seemed to be finishing up their discussion and had collected what they wanted of their belongings (Meatball and Ghorlash searched the corpses for more gold as well). The retired sentinel looked around, squinting in the daylight and seeing the devastation around them. There was no more to be done there.

"Maya, will you and Sodor be alright straying so close to Mor'shan?" she asked her friend.

The former captain waved her hand in front of her. "Unbeknownst to the Horde until now, our people do keep an observation tower hidden in the trees not far from that checkpoint," Maya replied with a swell of pride. Her basking was interrupted by a somewhat smug Darkspear rogue who overheard her.

"They've been aware of that one for at least a year or two, honey," Sonja hummed just barely loud enough for the others to hear.

"What?" Maya exclaimed, taken aback.

"Don't worry, if they were gonna attack, they'dve dunit by now. Like I said a minute ago, tensions are dyin' down. People are takin' tha peace accord between tha Warchief and ya High Priestess seriously."

Almost crestfallen, Maya sighed and turned back to Cecilia. "Either way, Sodor and I will be fine, and we can catch a flight from there. We also discussed our return and...there might not be room for you to return otherwsie."

"What do you mean?" Cecilia asked curiously.

"There might not be enough seats otherwise," Elizra explained. "A tauren gentleman at Mor'shan lended us a rather ornery kodo; Vegnus, Meatball, Sonja and Erikur are able to hitch a ride on the big beast along with our belongings. Valmar borrowed a timber wolf from the Horde authorities there."

"I take it that ya and Tyron are runnin' on ya own?" Khujand asked knowingly.

"You'd be correct. We'll be fine that way."

Cecilia looked to Irien questioningly, and the younger elf grinned mishceviously. "Me and Anushka have our own scaly mount from the deep," Irien joked, eliciting a resentful grumble from Ghorlash.

"Empress is fine now that Elizra was kind enough to heal her; she won't be able to run particularly fast, but she can certainly keep up with the kodo while carrying you and I," Maya added.

Turning to her husband, Cecilia scratched her head. He was the third heaviest person there after Ghorlash and, she assumed, the kodo they were speaking about. According to Khujand's own words, the two hippogriffs could carry their travel bags and walk but couldn't carry riders and probably couldn't fly either, seeing as how both he and Elizra were out of mana and all his potions were only for staying awake during long flights and curing poison. They truly hadn't been expecting any armed conflict...

"Ahem," Maya said rather than actually clearing her throat.

She tilted her head at Sodor, who was standing away from the rest of the group. Elizra had healed his arm, but the usually confident man looked unusually sheepish as he stood with his arms folded over his chest. Taking the cue, he ambled over to Cecilia and Khujand and stared at the ground. Even though they had just met, Maya shot a glance at Elizra and understanding the delicate situation, the worgen field medic ushered everyone else away to prepare the mounts that had been hiding in the trees just beyond the battlefield.

Sodor stood to face Khujand, and Cecilia wondered what exactly he needed to say. Although she doubted the two could ever be friends, she had thought that Sodor already said everything he needed to say during their confrontation at Raynewood over a month ago. Whatever it was that lingered within the druid's heart, it seemed to weigh on him heavily.

"Ah...Khujand...there is something we...I...need to tell you," Sodor started with a bizarrely uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice. The man exuded discomfort so profusely that it spread to everyone else as well.

"Um...what?" was all Khujand could reply as the unease seeped into him.

"Well...we were thinking...you know, we have to return to Mor'shan. Just to see you two off." Sodor cleared his throat for real, unlike when Maya did, and dropped his hands to his sides aimlessly. "And, you know, Isurith can ride with Maya. There's enough space. But your hippogriffs aren't in good enough condition to carry you," he mumbled.

Everyone stood silently for a moment as the rest of the group almost seemed ready to depart; even the two injured but very much living hippogriffs were loaded up with travel bags, and only the four veterans of Warsong Gulch were left standing alone. Apparently forcing out something very difficult, Sodor finally managed to use a normal speaking voice.

"Would you...ride me?"

It took only a second for Khujand's eyes to grow wide once he processed the offer, and Cecilia snorted a laugh through her nose that the two men pretended not to hear.

The awkwardness was palpable. The two men had once fought on opposite sides in a war, one tortured the other, and now the former victim was offering to let the former jailer ride on his back while shifted.

"Um...well...I gues we have no...eh...yeah," the equally sheepish jungle troll responded.

Striding casually as she tried to suppress more giddy laughter, Cecilia joined Maya on the back of Empress. The now healthy nightsabre adjusted itself underneath their weight but was easily able to maintain a steady trot as it joined the others, who were doling out last minute instructions regarding the trek back to Mor'shan which would assuredly span many hours - traveling on foot, no matter how fast the mount, was always much slower than traveling by air.

Behind them, Cecilia saw Sodor shift into his feral sabre cat form. His ears flipped backward on his head in discomfort under Khujand's mass - even after having cut some weight, the burly troll was still quite a burden to bear. Eventually catching up to everyone else, they hung at the back of the train, allowing Tyron and Elizra to lead Empress and the hippogriffs and then the massive kodo - apparently named Brutusk - then Ghorlash and finally, the two extremely uncomfortable males.

* * *

It was almost midday by the time the Mor'shan Ramparts came into view. The group had made incredible time all things considered, covering a huge amount of territory before noon. Cecilia had run the route countless times when her people were still isolated from the world, rarely setting foot into the Barrens, but that was on sabreback many centuries ago when she was in the same active condition as Maya. Given the rather low traveling speed of most of the group, she had expected the trip to take an hour or two longer than it did.

For sure, they had already passed the observation tower Maya spoke of earlier and true to her word, neither she nor Sodor complained of the extra travel time they would have to endure. Although Cecilia did feel guilty, she was also relieved that neither she nor her husband would have to make the trek on foot after what they'd endured - their legs weren't made for long term running like Elizra and Tyron's.

As if on cue, the entire group stopped once they could see the Ramparts. If Sonja and Valmar had gotten the other Alliance members through, surely they could have gotten Maya and Sodor through, but the two had indicated before riding that they didn't wish to add extra negotating time. Convincing the Horde officials to lend out Brutusk had apparently already taken quite a bit of convincing, and an outburst by Irien hadn't made things any easier.

Slowing to a halt, everyone not only dismounted but also removed their bags from Brutusk's back. Or, in the case of Irien and Anushka, the dorsal spines of Ghorlash they had hung their bag straps on.

The kodo had already begun returning to the Ramparts on his own accord before everyone turned to the two departing friends.

"I do not have the words to express our gratitude," Maya stated formally to the entire group. "We quite literally owe all of you our lives."

"A friend of the Hearthglens is a friend of ours," Elizra said while forcing a hug on the former commander, apparently unaware of how uncomfortable elves feel with such open displays of affection.

"Don't think nothing of it, it was great te meet ye," Vegnus chimed in as he slung a pack even larger than himself over his shoulder.

The others seemed content with simple handshakes and small talk as they said their goodbyes, with the exception of Ghorlash - himself once a highborne elf before being transformed. Causing Maya and Sodor visible confusion at first, he slithered over and, speaking Darnassian with a Nazjan accent, bit them farewell.

"May the Goddess be with you," he droned in his unnaturally echoing voice, eliciting a surprised gasp from both elves as he bowed.

Utter shock washed over Sodor's face as he managed to choke out a response. "And...with you as well, broth...cousin?"

Bobbing his long head and neck up and down, the myrmidon tucked his boat anchor underneath his arm and slithered back toward the Ramparts, only grunting a bit when Anushka, Vegnus and Meatball climbed up his back for another ride. As the two elves tries to process what had just happened from someone they would have considered a mortal enemy just half a day ago, Khujand ambled up to Sodor uncomfortably.

"Thanks...um...for tha ride," the jungle troll urked out shyly.

"Thanks for ridin-" Sodor cut himself off as he realized what he was about to say, and Cecilia and Maya rolled their eyes as both men stiffened up. "Well, I guess we better head back, because I hear they serve deer steaks at this watchtower!" Sodor said just a little too loudly as Maya shot him a confused look that insinuated they didn't actually serve any such meal at the tower.

"Oh...oh! So do we! They also serve steaks at the Mor'shan Rampart! And, uh...we don't take them rare or medium here, we eat tha steaks breathin'!" Khujand replied as they fed off of each others' insecurity.

"Right! Because that's how meat should be served!" Sodor was only a second away from thumping his chest, and all Cecilia and Maya could do was stare at each other and see who could hold out from laughing the longest. "And we don't use utensils, we just rip the meat off the bones with our hands!"

"Utensils are for tha weak!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Alright boys, we need to get going now," Maya said in the most polite voice she could muster. "We have quite a bit to inform Melyria of back at the Retreat."

Before the two elves could say any more, Khujand stepped forward and leaned in close.

"Maya...Captain...before ya go...I gotta say one more time. Ya never did anythin' wrong. I know ya already had enough time ta move on by yaself, but that don't mean ya don't deserve ta hear me say it again. Ya were a victim in more ways than one, and anybody who says wrong of ya don't deserve a second thought from ya. Whether I see ya again or not, please understand...that people can change. I'm never gonna ask ya ta forgive me. I'm only askin' ya ta believe me when I say that this isn't tha person I was then, and I hope nothin' but tha best for ya and ya family."

Blank from any expression at all for a moment, Maya's face softened if but faintly. In all the millennia they'd spent together, Cecilia had never seen the woman become emotional aside from the first night after Khujand tortured her ten years prior. Yet now, listening to his words, she seemed sincerely touched - and that was a major thing for anyone who knew Maya Ironwood.

When she tried to speak, the commanding nature was gone for just a few seconds, and she almost looked to be at a loss.

"I...thank you for your apology. I still..." Her voice became quiet as she tried to phrase what she wanted to say properly. "I still don't think I will interact with or even look at you easily. Something will always linger from that time. But for what it's worth...I do believe you. And while I won't say I forgive the person you were back then...I do understand that he's gone."

Sodor eyed Khujand carefully, breaking the silence that lingered for a minute after Maya had spoken. "I'm glad you want to atone for what you did. I can't speak for the balance or the divine. But if anybody can be saved, we'd like to believe it's those who repent." With much less hesitation than the time before at Raynewood, Sodor bowed to Khujand, as did Maya, and the druid made eye contact with the shadow hunter as they bid them farewell. "May the two of you support each other in your quest to move on from all that transpired before. The Goddess knows that the two of us only worked through our issues with each other."

Cecilia listened to the goodbye pleasantly at first, not noticing the significance of the statement. Only when she pondered it for a moment was she taken aback, crooking her neck forward as if to ask for clarification of what Sodor had just said. It was only then that Cecilia noticed, after all this time, that Maya and Sodor were wearing matching engagement rings.

Seeing where Cecilia's eyes were directed at, Maya spoke with a voice so soft that it didn't sound like hers. "Sometimes...those who are scarred are drawn to each other." She stood just a little closer to him at that point, brushing his pinky finger ever so slightly with hers - a sign that may have been too subtle for all the outlanders to notice.

The four stood a little while longer; Cecilia felt a little sad to say another goodbye, and a part of her wanted to believe that the two fiances before them did as well. The connection between them was an odd one, she knew, given that she was married to a man who had imprisoned all three of them and hurt the other two. His remorse was clear for them to see and they both even seemed to acknowledge that. To ask them to befriend Khujand seemed like a bit much, but Cecilia held out hope that one day it would be possible.

Finding nothing more to say, the two called Empress and took their leave, disappearing into the dense wood that implied natural Kaldorei fortifications, which often spanned out for miles from their watchtowers.

Cecilia slipped her hand into Khujand's and only had a few moments to spare before they heard Irien galloping up behind them.

"Guys...we're not through yet," she panted despite having not run far. Even Irien, despite her CFS, didn't become winded that easily.

Cecilia turned around in time to see Valmar - usually calmer and more collected than even the most ancient of priestesses - almost becoming heated as he argued with a Horde official next to the wooden gate at the main barrier between two foothills. Beyond the Ramparts, several grunts could be seen trying to soothe a battered blood elf spellbreaker and two orcs wearing bloody Warsong tabards.

An uneasy feeling sank down into the pit of Cecilia's stomach before Irien even spoke. Everyone else waited patiently outside the main gate rather than walking through, and Cecilia prayed that the whole ordeal could just be done with.

Irien looked up at her two best friends with an apologetic expression. "Some of the stragglers from the Outriders made it here before us."

"Shit."


	42. It Starts With One Step

Cecilia walked ahead of both Khujand and Irien as they approached the Mor'shan Rampart. The two tried to keep up with her, surprised at her speed considering all that had transpired in the past half a day.

Everyone save Valmar was waiting patiently outside the gate, likely trying to avoid raising tensions. The three Warsong Outriders just beyond the main gate were flailing their arms round as they rambled indignantly at the Mor'shan grunts. Though Cecilia couldn't quite make out what they were saying due to the commotion, she was sure they were accusing the group of assaulting members of the Horde or some other fabulous lie.

Valmar, for his part, tried furiously to explain the situation to a slightly overwhelmed Horde official wearing an officer's tabard outside the main gate. Brutusk had already wandered inside along with the timber wolf Valmar had borrowed and, apparently, the hippogriffs. Mounts and messengers were generally granted immunity from interfactional conflicts, and the logical side of Cecilia hoped that they were simply being cared for by the local stablemaster.

By the time Cecilia had reached the main gate, the conversation seemed to be going well for them considering they were a group of mostly Alliance members who were all armed and dangerous.

"No, it's a complete and utter fabrication!" Valmar huffed in his not so fluent Orcish. "To even have such wild allegations entertained is beyond ridiculous!"

"Sir, it's my job to take statements from everyone here. I have to listen to both sides of the story," the slightly overwhelmed officer cautioned.

"I'm not disputing that in any way, shape, or form!" Valmar retorted despite probably not needing to go as far as to 'retort.' "What I'm disputing is the veracity of these slanders upon my companions' good names and the free reign members of some rogue subfaction are being allowed!"

At that comment, the spellbreaker apparently snapped. She tossed her double edged Thalassian glaive to the ground and marched outside the main gate too quickly for the grunts to stop her.

"Excuse me, but its our good names that are being slandered here!" the bruised, dirtied woman claimed as she approached the two. "We march under the banner of our faction and were assaulted by these foreigners!" she hissed while pointing at the entire group, Sonja included.

Falling into some sort of a logical hierarchy, none of them reacted - not even Irien, thankfully - and they all seemed content to allow Valmar to speak on their behalf. The blood elf was still screeching in Orcish when the intentionally heavy footsteps of a dark haired Amazon stood uncomfortably close to her. The spellbreaker, the Horde officer and even Valmar turned to Cecilia then, all of them unsure of what she might do.

Cecilia stared the blood elf woman down, undisturbed even by the sweat dripping from her long, feral eyebrows. In spite of her stoicism, the hardness in her look even stopped the grunts that had initially approached to prevent a brawl from breaking out.

Cecilia was tired. She was worn. She'd been attacked, backstabbed by her ex best friend, emotionally bereaved of her husband whom she thought had died, rendered empty by revenge, forced to emotionally accept the prospect of dying and then hit with the emotional rollercoaster of realizing that her friends had saved her and Khujand and they would live after all. There was almost no sensation she hadn't experienced that night, good or bad, and she was sick and tired. She'd had it with those motherfucking Outriders at that motherfucking outpost.

"Get. Out. Of. Here." For a split second, she felt her eyes glow like that had before her drug usage, boring holes into the very soul of the spellbreaker before her. Even though her voice was barely above a whisper, every single person on that side of the Ramparts heard her, and even though Elizra, Tyron and Ghorlash didn't understand Ocrish, they all knew exactly what Cecilia was saying.

The spellbreaker burned with a wounded arrogant pride, backing off but still moving sideways as she did, pretending to look Cecilia in the eye but actually looking at the tree behind her to avoid doing so. If only to further make the point that she was almost ready to wet herself, the blood elf tripped over a stray shovel and flailed around as though she'd been caught in a giant invisible spiderweb. Were everyone around not more than just a little disturbed at the murder in Cecilia's gaze, they might have broken out into raucous laughter. Instead, they sufficed themselves with peeking through the Ramparts gate as the spellbreaker and her two orc companions quickly marched out of Mor'shan and, not even trying to rent mounts, began running once they were out of earshot.

Everyone in the general vicinity followed the three rejected Outriders until they were out of sight. Once they were gone, attention returned to the discussion between the undead citizen and the orc officer. Neither made an attempt to reinitiate the conversation until Cecilia tried to signal to Valmar by twitching her ears. Remembering that only Khujand and Irien understood that innovative sign language, she actually cleared her throat before the well-dressed Forsaken understood.

"Oh! Well then, it seems that matter has been resolved," Valmar said, breaking the silence.

The officer put his fists on his hips. He didn't appear standoffish so much as he seemed at a loss for what to do or to say. "The matter of the skirmish to the north has been resolved, and we'll have a messenger take the report to the capitol shortly. Given that you both concur that the conflict concluded and both sides fled, we won't be needing to take any statements."

"That would only leave the issue of our travel back to Ratchet, in that case," Valmar replied, obviously attempting to sound cheery. "And we do thank you profusely for allowing us to station our flying mounts here…"

The officer exhaled slowly, signaling displeasure at the notion. "That still hasn't been resolved," the older orc man said.

"What do you mean 'resolved?'" Irien inquired, though she was quickly silenced before doing any further damage when Khujand patted her on the shoulder.

The Horde soldiers in the vicinity didn't appear hostile, but they were certainly interested in the motley crew standing outside their gates. Three orc grunts and a tauren brave were on the ground in front of the opening in the Ramparts, their hands at ease but their bodies blocking entry. A Darkspear spearman was positioned at each of the twin hills lining the sides of the Ramparts and a few more troops inside were peering out to spy on the conversation.

"Look, I understand that a good deal of you carry identification from the Steamwheedle Cartel, and thus are considered neutral," the officer said to Valmar and Irien both. "But they are members of the Alliance," he said while motioning toward Elizra and Anushka. "I allowed you to go through initially under the assumption that we would find some sort of legal basis for allowing you to do so before you returned; we were, unfortunately, not successful."

"We aren't necessarily requesting that you allow members of the Alliance through, if you catch my drift," Valmar said in a low voice as he tilted his masked head as if to insinuate a wink. Everyone around listened surreptitiously to the conversation, save Anushka whose expressions and reactions were quite animated and Irien who literally cupped a hand over her long, slender ear until Khujand pulled her arm down. "What we're asking is that you allow two members of our own faction – Miss Sonja and myself – to pass through with our Steamwheedle friends here."

The officer raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You're asking me to knowingly allow two people through customs without registering them?" he asked a bit incredulously.

Valmar looked the man straight in the eye. "Yes. Just this one time."

"Not possible. We have these rules for a reason, and currently there is no legal framework for members of the Alliance to pass through Horde border crossings. If I start allowing things to slide now, it will continue, and the whole system will be rendered useless."

Clearing her throat one more time, Cecilia indicated to Valmar that she wished to speak. The undead looked to the officer for permission, and he thought for a few seconds before waving Cecilia over. She stepped forward as Valmar stepped back and away, giving the two their space, though the Horde troops and her companions alike only began listening even more intently as the Mor'shan commanding officer held audience with a night elf.

"Officer, may I ask your good name?" Cecilia started.

"Kadrak."

"Thank you, Officer Kadrak. Our companions tell us that you willingly lent them use of one of your outpost's timber wolves and the kodo here for the purposes of transport," she said in her formal sentinel voice. "As you know from their story, we may very well have perished and the conflict between the two rogue subfactions could have escalated into something even worse. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, both on behalf of ourselves and the region as a whole."

"You're very welcome," Kadrak replied formally. Cecilia knew orcs weren't used to the more formal and long winded nature of her people, but his age implied that he'd have more patience to listen.

"Now Officer, regarding our friends' situation. Please let me ask you: the legal system of the Horde considers precedent to comprise a legitimate part of the law, correct?" she asked, delving into her memory for one of the times Khujand read his attorney Lorthiras' ambling letters out loud.

Several soldiers in the area made no secret that they were leaning forward. "Yes, that is correct within lands led by the traditions of the orcs and the Forsaken, a vestige from our time under the Alliance," Kadrak replied cautiously. He appeared to experience a little flashback of his own – possibly of the internment camps the humans had forced the orcs into – and there was resentment in his voice, though toward the memory and not the questioner. "Where are you going with this?"

"Please, if we could request one more thing, it's that you hear us out," Cecilia asked politely, and Kadrak nodded. "Isn't it true that, as a military-based government led by a popular front, commanding officers in smaller outposts such as yours function as the arbiters of disputes within their jurisdiction?" She was honestly surprised even herself by how well she recalled the letters in which Lorthiras prattled on about his profession.

"That is true. And from what I pick up…you're suggesting that I exercise some sort of extrajudicial power of my own? Are you actually asking that I put myself out there and make some sort of an unprecedented ruling in order to make such a precedent?" he asked, as articulate as any human or Forsaken lawyer himself.

"Well, just a minute, Officer. Here is what I am saying. What we have here is a situation where, due to dire need, you lent rather valuable mounts of your outpost to a group including members of the Alliance so that they could take them into Alliance territory. You took a very big risk based on a verbal promise from them to return your mounts safe and sound – and as I understand, oral contracts are binding under Horde law."

"You understand correctly," Kadrak answered, resting his mouth on a closed fist as he thought.

The Horde troops around actually sheathed their weapons, so much was their interest in the conversation. Two more grunts and an apprentice mage wearing a Silvermoon tabard actually left Mor'shan and came out from the Ramparts gate just to listen in.

"So these members of the Alliance honored a legally binding contract with you when they could have stolen your mounts in what is predominantly the territory of their own faction and reasonably assumed they would escape arrest. You've even gone as far as to quarter their flying mounts without having a legal remedy for our situation on hand at the time, and their efforts have even made the region just a little bit safer from the machinations of extremists on both sides."

Kadrak shook his head, but his tone was apologetic. "What you're saying is true, Miss…"

"Hearthglen."

"Miss Hearthglen, what you're saying is true. And I am truly very sorry, but there is currently no legal framework for members of the Alliance to register with Horde customs – and anyone passing through our checkpoints must register. Even members of neutral factions must have representatives in Orgrimmar – Steamwheedle, the Cenarions, even representatives of the Darkmoon Faire. If you're asking for me to grant an exception to that rule without precedent, then I don't think I can do that. Any decision I make here will turn up for review in the capitol."

"It isn't an exception to the rule, Officer Kadrak; this is what I was getting at. What I am saying is that, under the legal system in Horde territory, you have the power to set precedent with your actions; it wouldn't be an exception to the rules because you can make a new rule. And it's happening – all over the world, it's happening. I passed through two Horde settlements in Durotar less than two months ago and was even discovered by a patrol unit while there – all without issue."

Murmurs swept over the Horde troops and even a few of her friends as Cecilia referenced her and Khujand's foray into the Horde heartland. Kadrak looked up, not seeming to experience any doubt of the story but for the first time, he did seem surprised.

"This is what I am asking of you, Officer Kadrak: that you only use the power the Horde has vested in you to allow two people – people who have honored a legally binding contract and done good by everyone in this region – to simply sign a registration book and be on their way." Cecilia's voice held a passion to it she hadn't expected, and the tauren brave lived up to his name by nodding in agreement despite garnering perplexed stares from his comrades. "What I'm asking is that you set the precedent of recognizing that there is no need for fellow thinking, feeling beings to treat one another as criminals based solely on their places of birth or the colors of their skin. What I'm asking is that you do your part to help all the people in this region to move just a little bit closer to living alongside one another without fearing one another. Because a change like that, a change in how people treat one another, has to start locally. Everyone must do their part to move on in a post Siege of Orgrimmar world...and legally, I don't think your part constitutes any sort of exception to rules."

Everyone was now focused on the conversation, and even more Horde troops from the Ramparts had gathered around. Many faces spoke of dismissiveness or even disapproval, but even many more displayed their agreement at the words. Kadrak stood absolutely still, concealing his thoughts as Cecilia finished her speech.

"Please, Officer, you have it within your grasp now to be a part of a positive change – a change which has already begun elsewhere but needs your help to continue. The world is so close to becoming a better place for all of us, but it has to start with one step." She pursed her lips for a moment in an attempt to hold back the emotion in her voice, but released, not feeling shy about it upon reflection. "The people on both sides need you to take that first step."

All eyes were on Kadrak as he stood, deep in thought. Even Brutusk the kodo peeked out from behind the Ramparts, and Erikur worriedly smoked five cigarettes at once despite being safe as a member of Steamwheedle. The group of friends had arrived together, and they would only be leaving together.

Nearly a minute passed as Kadrak took his time arriving at a decision. Slowly looking up, he met Cecilia's hopeful gaze, his expression unreadable.

"Let them pass…"

Although there were no cheers or applause save from Anushka, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief – even the few Horde soldiers who still looked disappointed – at the matter having been resolved. The soldiers ambled away and a few even gave approving looks to the group as they filed back in to their side of the border. Kadrak walked right past Cecilia, his demeanor professional but his expression softened.

"Bring out the registration book."

Within seconds, a very young orc grunt bounded out with the customs registration book in her hands. She couldn't have been more than fifteen years of age given by how youthfully her pigtails bounced as she hopped over to Anushka to start, and she had likely lied about her age in order to enlist. Cecilia stood paralyzed for a moment as a brief sense of recognition that she couldn't quite put her finger on washed over her. She was snapped back out of it as her husband took her by the hand.

"Are ya gonna be okay ta do this?" he asked as he drew her close.

Trying to understand what Khujand meant, Cecilia glanced around. Officer Kadrak had already begun giving orders to his troops about not overcharging the group for healing the hippogriffs further and the handful of Forsaken Deathguards became animated – no pun intended – when chatting with Valmar. Elizra and Anushka were busy registering themselves as the first two members of the Alliance to legally pass through Mor'shan on non-diplomatic identification cards while Vegnus, true to his nature, had managed to gather a group of Horde soldiers along with the rest of their friends and already had them laughing at one of his stories which may or may not have been true anyway.

All seemed fine. Cecilia looked up to her husband in confusion, but this time her ear twitching was an involuntary reaction rather than their intentional signal for 'I don't understand.'

"Cici…this is tha place. Tha place where ya spent a month in my prison." His voice was low and filled with worry, though he managed to look calm. "Are ya sure ya can walk through here alright?"

Gaze lowering for a moment as she considered it, Cecilia reveled in how easy it actually felt. This is where they had met for the first time; where she had been a prisoner in the small prison Khujand had been charged with managing. This is where, psychologically, she hit rock bottom upon reflecting on how many civilians she'd murdered while serving with the Silverwing Sentinels. At the time, she'd felt so low that she almost hesitated the night Khujand had smuggled her out of the prison and let her go.

Certainly, it must be difficult to revisit such a place for the both of them. The night he set her free was the night she realized he had hated his life and the choices that had led to it as much as she had. They were one and the same, and this should be a traumatic visit.

Yet it wasn't. Watching their friends file inside, Cecilia felt nothing exceptional. It was a place like any other; she experienced no flashbacks or panic attacks. By the look of Khujand's calmness – he was terrible at hiding his anxiety whenever he experienced it – he felt much the same. Now, like then, the were mirror images of one another.

She smiled up at him warmly. "Honestly, I feel just fine…and eager to get back home."

Hesitating not even for one second, the relaxed couple walked inside after their friends, and Cecilia took notice of how nonchalant the Horde soldiers behaved; it was as if the presence of night elves, worgen, a dwarf and a human didn't really bother them at all. Even the individuals who shot disapproving glances during her appeal quickly forgot about the whole matter and went back to their business. A flitter of hope ran through her mind. Perhaps peace would one day be possible in such a war torn world.

* * *

Khujand stood before the corner on the east end of Mor'shan that had once been the jail specially designed with him in mind. He had been recruited from the Gold Road patrols and more or less selected for the job of jailer before he had even interviewed. As a teenager, he had been discreet and minded his own business; when he saw his fellow soldiers breaking rules, he kept his mouth shut. It was exactly what the officers in charge at the time wanted; the Warsong Outriders needed a place to store prisoners for potential swaps, extracting information or selling as slaves to other faraway camps.

Cecilia was supposed to have suffer such a fate. Khujand could still remember vividly that morning: the missive for shipments included her, a few crates of towels and a goat that were supposedly headed for Stonard in the Eastern Kingdoms. Once there, Cecilia would have only been forced into manual labor if she had been extremely lucky; he knew of the stories of much worse things she could have been subjected to. As jailer, however, he had authority and his age on his side. He had been hired, in part, because his superiors assumed him malleable, immature and stupid. The first two were true; the third was not. He knew one thing he could get away with was taking a female prisoner for himself and supposedly murdering her in the process; though it technically meant the loss of 'property,' he could play the moronic nineteen year old they hired to be nothing more than a fall guy anyway. One lost prisoner who wasn't even an officer wasn't a big deal.

What shocked Khujand even more was how little his commanding officers cared anyway. When he confessed to the abhorrent though fabricated act the following day, the officer that had hired him just shrugged and told the Darkspear youth not to do it again. It only added to Khujand's disgust with what he had been doing for a living, what he had allowed himself to become a part of.

He never expected to find Cecilia again, not in a million years. In her emotionally awakened state after the return of her mortality, she did honestly think they'd cross paths again, though like him she repressed much of the memory of the connection they'd shared that night. It seemed like a childish dream. As Cecilia once explained to him, she considered not dragging him by the tusks with her in order to save him from his bad choices the biggest regret of her life until she found him again eight years later. And as much as he wished he had gone with her, she wasn't the only prisoner he'd treated kindly. One of the male night elves in particular – Khujand had long since forgotten the man's name – resented his own commanding officer so much that he almost enjoyed feeding information to the jungle troll. Though Khujand technically didn't set the guy free the way he did with Cecilia, he did leave the man in an unsecured cage on the other side of the Ramparts one night and made sure to disappear long enough that the Kaldorei male got the picture and escaped on his own accord.

No, Cecilia wasn't the only one he'd treated kindly…but she was vastly different from the others. He spent a month observing her before the order came to 'ship' her to her doom. Had such an order never come, he would have eventually busted her out anyway. Night elves are famed for their arrogance, as she had no shyness admitting multiple times. As bad as Khujand felt for the atrocities he committed, he knew the other side was just as bad, but members of the Alliance in general and the Kaldorei in particular always believed they could do no wrong.

Cecilia had been entirely different. He had never tortured her; had he done so, their bond wouldn't have been possible. Yet he could tell from the first day that she was as broken as he was, even more broken than many of his victims. Day in and day out, he saw the sadness in her eyes; not any sadness, but the same kind that had filled his own heart. Without even speaking to her, he knew. She obviously hated what she'd done and was obedient even without having to be beaten, unlike the other prisoners. He saw in her someone else who had lost all respect for their own self – and with justification for doing so. And when the missive came ordering her trafficking, he panicked as though it were an order for himself.

That one act of kindness awoke something in both of them, even if he did bury it back down within days.

When they met on the alternate version of Draenor eight years later, both fighting against the Iron Horde, it only took four nights in Gorgrond for that bond to be rekindled.

Logically speaking, it wasn't a bizarre twist of fate that they met again. Despite the fact that Khujand had only been on release from his own prison sentence for a month at the time, he had already bumped into several people he knew from his former life. Given the attention focused on fighting the Iron Horde, any adventurer worth their mettle had flocked through the Dark Portal. Had they not found each other in Gorgrond, it would likely have been many of the other neutral towns or joint Alliance-Horde assaults they had both participated in.

Yes, it was completely believable for them to have found each other. And yet, standing in front of the spot where the jail had once stood, they both still had a hard time believing it.

He felt Cecilia squeeze his hand just a little more tightly. "I can't believe they actually replaced the jail with a pig sty," she huffed, pinching her nose with her free hand to block out the smell.

"Me neither. I feel like tha place where we met should be a world heritage site."

They both laughed, quickly running out of breath due to not inhaling through their noses. Far off in the distance, he could see their friends waiting by the flight point, joking with the Horde soldiers casually. Freedom of passage through the Ramparts, Khujand had expected; seeing their multiracial, multifactional group joking around with orcs and blood elves, he had not.

"How much longer do we got before they get enough mounts for tha whole gang?" he asked in regard to their friends.

There hadn't been enough flying mounts ready for them all at the time – their own had been rented out by others during the skirmish to the north – and they had to wait in a queue. Neither he nor Cecilia would even think of returning to the north Barrens waystation until they were sure everyone had begun their flights back to Ratchet safe and sound. Initially the entire group wanted to follow the couple to the waystation, but seeing as how they had to return the hippogriffs there and then ride Thunderhorn's raptors back across all of the Barrens, it just wasn't practical. Only Irien absolutely insisted on coming with them, and they knew she wouldn't budge. But the rest…well, they had to see them off.

Cecilia pulled out the gnomish mini-clock they always carried with them. She squinted in the daylight, trying hard to read the small hands. "Almost two hours. Not quite, but almost." Looking back up to him, she tried to hide her boredom but he felt it. "We've already seen and reminisced at every other spot here, though most of the older buildings have been scrapped. The place doesn't even look recognizable."

Indeed, she was right. The number of troops had been reduced and with them, the number of civilian contractors. The Mor'shan Ramparts looked, finally, like an actual frontier outpost, with only the bare necessities available. The two of them had walked all over, inspecting every inch of the place and trying to remember what it had all looked like before. For sentimental reasons she claimed not to understand, Cecilia had tracked down a random orc girl probably too young to be serving and forced half their gold on the young lady. The pigtail donning girl looked confused but gladly accepted the gift; aside from that somber moment, Cecilia had seem largely unaffected by their visit besides her happiness at peacefully entering a Horde camp. After all they'd been through, the one starry eyed fantasy the two of them held on to was peace between the two major factions. Officer Kadrak's actions implied it might be more of a reality than they'd thought.

Digging deep into his memory, Khujand tried to think of all he remembered of Mor'shan to see if they had missed anything else to see. They still had time to kill and as grateful as they were for their friends, ahem, quite literally saving their lives, the couple did need some alone time after the harrowing ordeal with that Gwynneth woman that used to be Cecilia's best friend.

Cecilia may or may not have been saying something, but Khujand could no longer hear. Pinpricks ran up and down his spine as a crashing wave of familiarity hit him. All the way on the other end of the Ramparts, he saw…something. Something he had once known. Something Cecilia apparently had not noticed.

He glanced back at their friends, checking to be sure that everyone was focusing on Vegnus' ukulele and Anushka's fly swatting skills rather than him and his wife.

The coast was clear; nobody was looking. Almost two hours…he knew what they could do.

Taking Cecilia's left hand and inserting it into his own left behind his back, Khujand stepped forward at a brisk pace. She stumbled at first, not having expected the sudden movement.

"Honey, where are we-"

"Shh, just follow me!"

Holding her close enough to ensure that she couldn't see in front of them, Khujand dipped behind Brutusk for cover as he hurriedly crossed the main road. Several Horde troops took notice but said nothing, and most everyone on that side of the gate was too entertained by the dwarven bard to pay attention anyway. A few paces in front of them, Khujand could see the old storage shed. It had been left in the same condition it had been in when the inspectors from Orgrimmar showed up with a warrant for his and his commanding officers' arrests, still rotting away yet also still existent after just shy of ten years. It was the last obstacle between the two of them and any prying eyes, and he held his breath as he tried not to walk conspicuously fast the last few yards.

Remaining completely silent, Cecilia followed as he had asked, not questioning but also not seeming to understand what they were doing.

That is, until she heard the sound of his smooth, leathery hide squeezing through that same old break in that same old fence on the war west end of Mor'shan.

And when they stood in that same small, long ditch between two hills marking the border between the Barrens and Ashenvale, he pulled her in front of him and saw the look of awe on her face. Behind that same shed stood that same rickety fence where he had snuck her out that night while she had been shadowmelded. And that ditch between two hills looked exactly the same as when they ran side by side, her hand in his so he could guide her to the escape route he had devised for her.

And without saying anything, Cecilia understood. Slipping her hand in his once more, she grinned ear to ear as she waited for him to lead. She was always the leader in their relationship; but just this time, like that night an entire decade ago, she wanted to switch roles.

They jogged. There wasn't enough space to run anyway, and jogging created less noise. For almost five minutes they jogged, winding around the path of the ditch until they reached…the ledge.

Breaking out from the hilly border, a raised, grassy ledge overlooked a ravine. The ravine was bordered by Ashenvale purplewoods growing so closely together than nobody could see inside or outside of the formation. Far off in the distance, underneath a clearing, was a hill. It was raised directly in the center of the break in the canopy above the clearing, almost as if it had been grown that day. There were no wisps like there had been that night given that it was broad daylight, but that didn't matter. This was close enough.

Close enough to the very moment where they looked into each other's souls…and only saw themselves staring back.

"Oh…Khujand…my Goddess…" Cecilia hushed out, her voice almost wavering with joy.

"This is it," he whispered despite nobody being around to spy. "This is where ya gave me tha chance ta be free…tha place where I was too weak ta take that chance tha first time."

"You took it the second time, back in Gorgrond," she said while turning to him, trying so hard to control herself. "The decisions we made, dear…the good and the bad…they made us who were are. They led us to suffer the way we both did. And it all made our reuniting possible."

They clasped hands and looked into each other's eyes once more. Hers were faded, much of the glow having been drained by her past drug abuse. His glowed almost more than hers now as his connection to the spirit world increased with age. But it was what lied behind those eyes that were the same.

Right then and there, they didn't need to say much. They'd already hashed out that night so many times on so many other nights in their relationship. They'd discussed so many times how she thought he would go with her when she urged him to abandon his post and run off with her. They'd discussed how she hadn't had the faintest idea where they would go without being killed – Azeroth was a much different place back then. They'd discussed how she hadn't cared at that moment. He'd saved her from a fate worse than death without expecting any reward, and she had wished so much she could set him free from the ruination he'd made of his life by doing something he hated himself for – torturing prisoners of war. And they'd discussed how they were both scarred beyond belief when he couldn't find the courage the abandon his post and follow her into the ravine.

How hard it was for both of them when she stood on that hill under the clearing, the two of them staring at each other as he leaned on the fence lining the ledge, watching to make sure she escaped alright. Two of his drinking buddies approached at that moment, and she had to run. She couldn't let his risk be for naught. But they both ached until they met again in Gorgrond. They'd both changed considerably due to the hardships they'd faced, yet in so many ways had stayed the same.

Cecilia's eyes glistened as she moved closer to him. "Was it lust?" she asked, almost reading his thoughts.

Considering it for a moment, Khujand shook his head. "I wasn't attracted ta elves at tha time, and ya weren't inta trolls, or guys with piercings, or guys without beards."

She giggled, always so youthful sounding despite being wiser than she even realized. Biting her lower lip without realizing she was doing it and what it always did to him, she paused – they rarely rushed their conversations. "What was it then?"

"Sharin'. Sharin' tha remorse for tha awful things we both did. Sharin' tha experience of wantin' ta set another person free." He ran a hand over her head to smooth her hair back, admiring the grey streaks no matter how many times she claimed she didn't like having grey hair. "Sharin' like we did back in Gorgrond."

The air stood still as the high Ashenvale canopy prevented any wind from reaching below. Silence lingered only for a moment until a sly grin broke out across her face and she pulled away from him, pointing to the ravine. "The fence is gone," she breathed out, obviously implying a deeper meaning. "The one that was here, the one you leaned on when you watched me…it's…"

Cecilia's voice became weak at the end of the sentence, and the emotion cracked through in her voice. The two of them were panting heavily as Khujand finally understood her intention. Removing the violet-blue scrunchie she was wearing – she always loved scrunchies no matter how out of style they were considered – she ruffled up her hair the way it had been that night. And when she stepped backward to skid from the ledge to the ravine, unlike that night a decade ago…he followed.

Crying out in joy, Cecilia burst ahead and ran through the ravine, arms held wide open as she raced toward the hill. Khujand did his best to keep up on his wide, burden bearing troll feet, unable to catch up with her narrower, hurdle jumping elf feet.

Flashbacks both of the night she led him on a chase through a field in Gorgrond and her escape which she had been trying to remind him of a year and a half ago ran through his head as she reached the hill, standing on the top triumphantly as – this time – he ran away with her.

"Aaaaaaiiiieieeee!" she squealed as they crashed into each other's.

He lifted her up into a bear hug and twirled her around in a circle, both of their hearts beating in unison as she pressed her chest against his. When he set her down, they spent a full minute staring into each other's eyes and laughing.

He looked back to the now fenceless ledge. "It looks so far away from here."

"It felt so far away that night, when you didn't foll…bah! Honey!" She guided his chin with her fingers so he'd look back at her again. "This is how I imagined it happening. And now we're here…and now we don't have to run from the world."

"Yeah…I followed ya ta freedom. It took me ten years, but I did," he crooned, not caring if he sounded disgustingly fluffy while doing so.

Grabbing his wrist the same way she had, she pressed herself against him. "Tell me what you would have done if you'd followed me out here."

Her excitement was clear in everything – her voice, her look, her posture. He needed no more encouragement. They both knew what they wanted now, even if they had been more naïve back then.

"This," he hummed as he pressed his lips onto hers.

They had been staying as guests of others for so long that they had scarcely had a moment alone during the last leg of the trip, and it felt as though he hadn't tasted her in so long. Her movements slowed down to a snail's pace as they kissed, and their connection was deep. They held for so long that they had to breathe again, and he could feel her inhaling and exhaling as the air from her nostrils tickled his upper lip. The softness of the skin on her lower back had never felt so alluring to his fingertips, and he lightly massaged her as she pressed into him even further than should have been physically possible. When they released, they both gasped, and she fell backward into his arms such that he had to support her back to keep her standing.

Not even giving herself a chance to catch her breath, she spoke again. "And tell me what you would have done after that," she purred with a mischievous, narrow eyed grin.

If she wanted to be taken, she couldn't have made it more obvious. Raking her overly sensitive skin with his fingernails the entire way, he slid his hands down to her leather shorts, slipped them down inside. And as he felt the roundness of her bottom, she arched her back, throwing her arms around his neck to help keep herself upright. Pressing her forehead into his, and when she opened her eyes wide enough for the two of them to look into each other once more, they both knew – without a shadow of a doubt, they knew – that they would never let themselves split apart again.

* * *

Irien squeezed through the hole in the rickety fence at the Mor'shan Rampart, desperately trying to find Anushka. Although she'd be traveling with Cecilia and Khujand back to the waystation herself, the spastic draenei would not, and Irien didn't think Anushka responsible enough to travel back on her own. The flight master was growing impatient and there were only a few more minutes to spare.

Before Irien could even follow the foot and hoofprints down the narrow ditch, she already saw Anushka tripping and falling toward her, almost falling into a seizure in the process.

"Helpings me!" she cried.

"Shit, what happened?" Irien asked as she knelt at her friend's side, readying her rifle.

The woman's look was one of traumatic shock. "Khujand…he am turned into the demons!"

Irien raised one long, feral eyebrow. "What…turned?"

"The demons! They must be possessings him – he is killing Cici!"

As distraught as Anushka appeared, Irien knew it must be some sort of misunderstanding. But before she could even speak, her long ears waggled, picking up a faint, distant sound from down the ditch.

Far out of her view, something was…happening.

Very faintly, the sound of a night elf female moaning reached the two of them. Shortly thereafter, the rumble of a jungle troll in rut followed, and Anushka looked up to Irien pleadingly.

Her face blushing dark purple, Irien tried to find the best way to explain the situation to the misinformed virgin. "Um…Anushka…listen…"

"Helpings!"

"Listen! They…look." Irien shouldered her rifle and helped Anushka up, brushing the leaves off of the mail armor she'd lent to the draenei.

"Khujand _is_ killing Cecilia…just not in the way you're thinking."

 **End of their arc.**


	43. Let's Go Again

Cecilia was so worn out that she had actually considered riding side saddle. She might have done it, too, had they not been flying so high.

Irien flew on point, leading the way for her two best friends despite having never been to the waystation in the far northern mountains of the Barrens before. She'd seen it on enough maps at the Steamwheedle shipping office that she knew exactly where to fly – at least, that's what she said.

Even through her flying goggles, the afternoon sun interfered with visibility. Cecilia squinted her eyes; even though Irien was a competent flier and an excellent navigator, the more commanding part of Cecilia's personality always pushed her to be the one to lead. In a way, this last flight of the trip gave her time to realize that it was time to let go.

In all truth, Cecilia didn't intend on retiring from work entirely as she had initially claimed back in Astranaar. For sure, she would certainly not miss her job at the shipping office. Allison was an awful boss with poor communication skills and a contemptuous nature, and the fact that it was Cecilia's comfiest job didn't make it any easier. Being fired was still a good thing; she just didn't intend on retiring totally. Not that finding work would be difficult, anyway; Cecilia had ten millennia of experience as a cavalrywoman, and her reputation as both a warrior trainer and a riding trainer had spread outside of Ratchet itself. Travelers and adventurers would always be looking to hone their skills, select new talents and increase their levels (which had been standardized by a rare international accord long ago). No, she would still work – part time only.

But it was the nature of the work that signified the biggest change in Cecilia's life. She wasn't an adventurer anymore; she'd now be training other adventurers, watching all the young people pick up where she left off.

Theoretically, she would have gotten over that the moment she and Khujand set foot in Ratchet; they had left Draenor to their completed duplex with Irien under the express promise between all three of them that they would be leaving the life of adventuring. Sure, they might take up the odd quest here or there – the locals had assumed she and Irien were sisters (they were in all but name) and would often come running to the 'colorful family' on the north side for help. All of that, however, was by their own choosing, and they no longer relied on questing for income.

Somehow, it hadn't sunk into Cecilia's mind. There was no huge revelation or epiphany, which now seemed to be some sort of running gag in her life. Rather, it was hitting her right there, more than a hundred yards up above the mountains of the far northwestern Barrens. When Khujand received the death threat from Garot'jin two months ago, Cecilia hadn't thought twice about going with her husband to ensure his safety; she would never leave his side. In retrospect, she should have felt more nervous. Like Irien had warned them, she was going into the heart of Horde territory without any sort of official invitation to hunt down a crazed drug dealer. Like a true warrior of the night, she rode off into the unknown with the man she loved like some sort of power couple living and breathing combat.

But they weren't that kind of couple; they were civilians now. And looking back, it seemed a very necessary but plainly insane effort.

Their foray into Ashenvale was also crazy, though not as much. Her husband was traveling with the endorsement of two neutral organizations, and he had given up his Horde identification card months ago. It was supposed to have been a simple visit to family with the blessing of a natural being who would understand Khujand's desire for forgiveness. If only they had known it would be the more harrowing, life threatening leg of the trip!

Cecilia wrinkled her nose as the waystation came into view, and she hoped she wouldn't have to fly again for a very long time. As much as she valued the hours they had between the waystation and Mor'shan – time to reflect on what they'd left behind and what they were heading for – her thighs were just aching too much. With nobody to observe her, she grinned wide as she remembered just why, exactly, her thighs were sore and how it had nothing to do with the ride itself. As if he understood what sort of naughty things she was thinking of, her husband grinned as well across from her, and for the first time they began they descended to land without him being affected by his fear of heights, which more or less always seemed to transfer over into a fear of flying as well.

The mount handlers had taken their positions to signal the hippogriffs the exact order to land in and the proper places, the intelligent mounts following their instructions flawlessly. Grinning again, Cecilia marveled at the sight before them. Although the waystation wasn't particularly busy that afternoon, there were enough people outside of the lodges for her to see her prediction to Officer Kadrak coming true. Of the three flight point attendees, one was a tauren woman and the two men were an orc and a human speaking some sort of creole of their two languages to each other. Underneath a tree, a draenei shared a long sandwich with a blood elf, the two male warriors looking disheveled and battered but also brotastic as they high fived and laughed over what must have been an adventure equally as amusing as that Cecilia, Khujand and their friends had just been through. True, such sights were still only viewable in strictly neutral points like this waystation or Ratchet, but the world would come around. She had enough experience living in it to know that.

After a soft landing as if to punctuate their transition permanently into civilian life, they all dismounted and unsuccessfully tried to prevent a team of pandaren teamsters not bearing the insignias of any faction from gingerly handling their bags for them and refusing to accept tips.

Forming a triangle, the two night elves and a jungle troll prepared to walk into the main lodge, not realizing that they looked like a corny joke someone would tell at a bar.

Switching from her flying goggles to her usual enormous, gnomish engineered dayvision goggles, Irien was the first to speak. "I'd suggest we spend the night here, but at this point our sleep schedules will be totally messed up," she sighed, her perennial fatigue catching up with her. "And we're better off traveling at night anyway. By the time the raptors are ready it will be near dusk anyway."

Cecilia shook her head in concern. "Irien, you're not ready-"

"You not ready. Not yet," Irien interrupted in the voice she'd use when doing impressions of overbearing night elf parents with heavy accents.

"I'm being serious!" Cecilia chortled along with the other two. "It will take us at least three days of riding from here back home if we take it slow and leisurely."

"That would actually give me more time to rest," Irien said, suddenly talking serious business. "Staying here would give me only a few hours, which wouldn't make a difference. If we just hit the road comfortably, we'll have plenty of time to rest on the way there."

"Ta be honest, tha time we spend waitin' here for tha raptors ta be prepared should be enough," Khujand suggested as he patted Irien on the head like a giant, six and a half foot tall child. "Tha attendees said, what, two hours for bathin' and feedin' them?"

Sighing in defeat, Cecilia nodded. "I guess we'd be more comfortable in our own tent anyway."

"You'll feel better after we sit down, I'm sure," Irien said as she guided the two inside the main congregational lodge despite the fact that she was in worse shape than the both of them.

* * *

Inside, the long house had a strange sort of architecture not orcish, nor human, nor elven, nor trollish. It was a sort of combination between tauren architecture and some neauveu style popping up around coffee shops in capitol cities. Most of the other travelers were outside or in the rentable huts, few of them ever lingering for long. Spying the two chairs by the same fireplace they had sat at a month ago, Cecilia nudged Khujand as they trotted across the sheepskin rug to stake out the two large chairs before anyone else did. They sank into them the same way they had the last time they were there, and reveled in the warmth of the large fireplace, just as warm and welcoming as it had been before. Irien pulled up a chair for herself as the two proprietors of the place entered.

The two ageing orcs, a husband and wife who had become legend in the region for always lending help to travelers, were both blindfolded, having lost their sight long ago. Both of them, even the male, were thin and lean by orcish standards, and moved with surprisingly little inhibition despite their great age.

"I thought I heard some familiar footsteps," the old woman said as she smiled upon the trio. "I sense voodoo magic and a very ancient wisdom sitting here, along with a ball of energy not held down by circumstance."

The three friends chuckled lightly at the accuracy of the blind woman's prediction. The old man held his wife's hand gently as though they were newlyweds, and Cecilia felt a warmth swell up in her heart, not caring one bit about the cute elderly couple's race.

"How did you know?" Irien asked, beaming that she'd been described as a ball of energy despite how tired she looked.

"Sometimes, when you stop looking so hard, you can see what you couldn't before," the old woman replied. Her words didn't quite make sense but she said them with such an air of nobility that everyone nodded. She tugged her husband's hand as she spoke. "Do the three of you need anything before getting on your way?"

"Oh…well, is there anything to eat?" Cecilia asked, glancing over at the open kitchen at the other end of the longhouse.

"Our stoves work all hours of the day, save for the cleanings," the old man answered. "What can I help you with?"

"I'm so hungry I could eat a horse," Khujand joked. It was the oldest joke in the book but everyone laughed more at the way he said it.

"We actually have a horse here. The whole thing. We can have it prepared for you right now." The old woman was kind, but also completely serious.

Cecilia winced, though Khujand and Irien both licked their lips at the thought. "One horse, please!" Irien chirped.

As they all exchanged a few more jokes before the old blind couple left – never needing assistance despite all the tables and chairs in their way – a sort of comfort settled in to the room. Cecilia stared into the fire. Her husband and her best friend watched as she fell into another series of flashbacks, listening intently to her stories that always seemed to return to her completely at random.

She spoke of watching a fire at a bakery in Suramar when she was already one thousand years old, of watching a campfire with Shandris Feathermoon while on a larger patrol in what would later become Felwood during the Vigil, of burning the camp of a group of arcane practitioners in Azshara shortly after the highborne had already been expelled and roasting quail with uncle Elindir's late wife Rithradia at the abandoned mountain fortress she and Khujand had spied when they first entered Ashenvale – it was only then that she remembered she had been stationed there for several centuries long ago and had simply forgotten when she and Khujand had passed it previously.

Irien had kept her journal with her even when the pandaren carried their bags to a storage awning for luggage, and jotted down as much as she could. Even with the trance like state Cecilia entered, she could still see her husband leaning forward, hanging on her every word in a way that showed her how he truly felt about her more than words could ever say.

* * *

Khujand walked away from the stables, having secured everyone's travel bags. The two raptors he and Cecilia had left at the waystation had remained far longer than what they had paid for, but he literally had to force the rest of the money on the handlers – the location truly was a charity, everyone doing their best to help people get back on their feet and on their way. Irien's wind rider from Ratchet was able to carry much of what the two hippogriffs had, and Khujand marveled at how many of their belongings had remained intact despite the great fall both mounts had experienced at the battlefield in southern Ashenvale.

He had had to heal their corpses both before resurrecting them, otherwise they would have just died again. It had been harrowing. During his fall, he had somehow accepted his fate much easier than when Garot'jin had pinned him on that ledge in Durotar during their battle. As long as he lived, Khujand was sure he would never quite know why. He hadn't been able to comfortably accept dying at the drug dealer's hands, and felt a surge of relief when Cecilia saved him at the last minute. But when he and his wife faced certain death at the blades Gwynneth's glaive throwers, a sort of calmness washed over him. Old Sen'jin, may he rest in peace, had once told Khujand as a youth that voodoo would allow the shadow hunters, shadow priests and priestesses and witch doctors a sort of premonition into the future. It could be far, it could be short term and it usually wouldn't be totally under their control until they gave their minds up to the Loa – something Khujand had expressly refused when the offer was implied to him while captive at the drug lab. Whatever it was attributable to, he had the feeling that everything would be okay as he watched Cecilia become a dot in the sky, screaming hysterically as she reached for him.

It was only at the last minute that he thought outside of the box and got the cockamamie idea to cast a horrifying, excruciatingly painful and completely offensive transformation spell on himself, literally becoming a pigeon and landing safely.

"Bah," he said as he searched for Cecilia around the ledge where they had a clear view of Ashenvale across the border.

The inner voice that had apparently been a Loa was noticeably absent. Khujand felt both alone yet comfortable within his own mind. He knew he most likely still had mental problems he wasn't entirely aware of, but then again, practicing voodoo could pretty much only be done by people like that. Plus, having a very caring, patient, understanding life partner certainly helped.

Speaking of which…

"Gettin' one last view?" he asked as he saw his wife standing at the very edge of the waystation camp, gazing over the rolling hills covered by verdant forest.

"One last view on this trip…" she breathed happily, less emotional when viewing her homeland when compared to their initial foray but certainly pleased with the view.

Khujand knew how hard it must have been her at first. Their culture valued family and community, and she knew nothing other than that for a period time he couldn't even imagine. After abandoning it for the outside world she had initially reviled and living through hell for a few years, settling down among other races and traveling to another planet and dimension, she had changed so much – for sure. How could a person like that think of returning at all? She must have felt so cut off. For her sister to beckon her back, even for a visit…it was so hard to imagine. The ten years she'd spent away felt as heavy on her shoulders as the ten thousand she'd spent living there.

Khujand put an arm around Cecilia's shoulder to steady himself, his head reeling just from trying to comprehend it. She truly was – without a shadow of a doubt – the strongest person he ever had and ever would know. And he couldn't be happier than to be with her.

The two of them inhaled the fresh mountain air deeply, gazing at the virgin forest. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but green – every inch of the hills and valleys covered by the trees. There certainly must have been rivers and streams, maybe some lakes and glades, but even they were hidden from view by all the leaves. The moon shone above along with the stars in the night sky, bathing the entire landscape in an ethereal light. It was the second most beautiful thing Khujand had ever seen.

Feeling each other simultaneously, husband turned to wife and wife turned to husband. The two of them were alone on the ledge, the Barrens on one side and Ashenvale on the other as they held each other close.

"I know we've been sayin' a lotta sappy stuff lately, but I can't help myself," he started.

"We've earned it," she replied quickly and surely. "When people have stuck together through thick and thin through stuff like this, they get to say whatever they want. It's part of the rules."

They shared a laugh and he didn't hesitate to say what he wanted to say, knowing they would need to get going soon.

"No matter what coulda happened, woulda happened, ya not my second choice. Even if I could go back, safe and sound with Zulwatha and tha two kids I sired with her, I wouldn't. It was a phase in my life, and I'm still gonna love those kids till tha day I die, even if I never see them again, but it's all better this way – for them and especially for me." There was little emotion in his voice this time as he found it easy to contain himself, and he was absolutely sincere in his words. And better yet, he knew she could feel it. "Ya my first choice, Cecilia Hearthglen; I would never want it any other way."

He kissed her knuckles lightly, looking at her look at him the whole time. Sensing it was her turn, Cecilia didn't hesitate either.

"Even if it were raining night elf men from the sky and they were literally throwing wedding bands at people, I wouldn't have chosen them or anybody else. I no longer resent all my life experiences, even the bad ones. Everything I went through – from the War of the Ancients to my own personal torment all drugged out in a gutter – it all made me who I am. And who I am is someone who wants nothing more than to be with this big, overly sensitive man who came from such a different background yet understands me in a way nobody else ever has, not even my mother. You're my first choice, Khujand Hearthglen," she said with emphasis on the surname she was given on a fake ID and which she had given to him.

The moon shone down on two figures at the Ashenvale-Barrens border that evening. Two people with long ears and faintly glowing eyes embraced, pressing their foreheads together as they renewed their bond, a bond that could never be broken. Khujand would never let her go as long as he lived, and he knew Cecilia felt exactly the same. They pulled away to get a better look at each other one last time before going home, their eyes twinkling like the constellations above.

"I love you…so, so much."

"I love ya too."

They turned away from the forest so they could go back out to the plains, the halfway point between what their two respective races called home, their own home resting in the middle. They put their arms around each other as they walked, content and happy as they saw Irien already waiting for them, mounts and bags at the ready.

"We made it."

 **A/N: if you're tired of the fluff, it occupies a smaller portion of the next chapter. If you can't get more of the fluff, then the next chapter has it in a higher concentration. Either way, it's win-win, and then after next chapter, the epilogue and a great big thank you!**


	44. The Invitation

"Oh Goddess...pain...pain...it's coming again..."

"I got ya hair now, it's fine girl. Just let it out-"

"I'm puking my guts out, honey! It isn't fine!"

"Alright, bad wordin' on my part. Look, just don't hold back nothin' and-"

:: _REEEEEEETTTTTCCCHHH_ ::

Cecilia vomited forcefully into the toilet for a second time that evening, and Khujand could feel every muscle in her body straining as she gripped the sparkling, meticulously cleaned rim. Thank the Goddess for the indoor plumbing which goblin settlements all had. And for bleach.

Reeling, the twelve thousand year old warrior of the night who had faced down demons, dragons and drug dealers (who strangely turned out to be equally as scary as one another) was rendered helpless by an upset stomach. At least, that's what Cecilia had insisted it was.

Khujand knew better. Not only had he sired children before, but he came from a culture where five or six child families were the norm and entire villages participated in rearing the kids. When Sonja had passed him an extra strong dose of fertility remedies a few months back at the alchemy shop - pulverized basilisk scales, ground dragon horn and pure ethereal extract all distilled into liquid form - he felt sure it would do the trick. Cecilia had finished drinking the last of it with her meals just after they arrived home from their recent trip to Ashenvale last November. Once they had relaxed back into the swing of normal life, they began trying once a day again - twice on some days - and rather enjoying themselves while they did so.

"Cici, I'm tellin' ya, it's February now. Ya got mornin' sick...er, evenin' sickness."

Dizzy and panting from the effort of expelling everything that had been in her stomach, she took her time replying.

"Oh...I...I knew that when you said it...over the weekend," she urked out, heaving slightly at the end of her sentence.

"I had a feelin' ya did, and were just nervous," he hummed while shifting his weight.

They were both on their knees in the bathroom as he held her hair; the toilet had thankfully been designed with tall people in mind, but with both of them at once it was so cramped they almost couldn't move. He tried to lean as far away as possible to give her space and help her feel comfortable, but he could hear the floor creaking underneath their combined weight.

"Honey...I'm scared," she said while retaining her grip on the spotless toilet lid. "I fought giants and charged through firestorms...none of that was as scary as this." Her body appeared to relax as she spoke, and he made sure not to interrupt her. "I never thought...I never expected to have kids, and I want it so bad but what if I'm too old for pregnancy or I don't raise our kids properly...what if I can't give birth...I'm going to be a mom? I never had a responsibility that huge...I..."

Khujand had to fight the urge to hug her as she vented. He had no worries about her transition to a more domestic life as he had, but to see her taking parenting and birth so seriously, to see his warrior of the night fretting so, was so cute he wanted to boop her on the nose.

"Ya gonna do great, girl, I just know it," he crooned.

"Oh...I hope so." After a moment of silence, her body seemed to calm down. "I think it's finished."

Khujand took a moment to massage Cecilia's back; her last sentence was spoken by many a heroine or hero just before finding things weren't finished. She seemed to settle into a restful state, however, and didn't even dry heave. As he kneaded the muscles over her back, he could feel the numerous battle scars she'd earned over the millennia. Some had since faded into light mauve lines or even disappeared entirely. Others, such as those that were only a century or two old, were still fresh enough for his thick fingers to feel them through her sports bra as he ran his hands across her back. In any other situation, such contact would have resulted in them tackling each other onto the bed. Considering her misery, however, it simply wasn't happening that day.

Waving one hand and nodding, Cecilia seemed to indicate that she was ready to stand and Khujand helped her to the sink to rinse out her mouth. She remained hunched over as he continued holding her hair back. He knew she was making sure to block his view of whatever came out of her mouth alongside the water. No matter how many times he told her that part of marriage was sharing everything, there were still certain things she was shy about. He chalked it up to her elven heritage; they were meticulous about their appearance and quite particular about their dignity in front of others. He was happy to oblige, and looked away as she cleaned herself up.

Once she finished, she rose and walked to the bed on her own accord. She spread out on her stomach to be comfortable but made sure to cover herself with the blanket, eliciting a chuckle from him. As he sat next to her, he watched her upper back raise and lower as she breathed, wondering what it would feel like to do the same with a much smaller being's body again.

"Ya know, ya slept eleven hours last day?" he asked cheekily.

"Mmm," was her only response.

"Ya're cute."

She smiled with her eyes closed and laughed with her mouth closed, reveling in the attention. In general, she was not the type to accept being spoiled. During the past week, however, she accepted his nearly overbearing attention rather easily. It was part of what had caused him to assume that, deep down inside, she did know she was pregnant. Her initial difficulty accepting that fact fully didn't surprise him, though. She truly had led such a different life before. Due to the amount of time she had spent under the impression that she'd never see a man again, it made sense that pregnancy felt so foreign to her.

But he knew she felt it. And he knew she was changing. There was not an ounce of doubt within him that she would be a great mother. She had tended to nature and the forests sacred to her people for so long; Cecilia always had to take care of and protect something. It's who she was.

While he ran his hand softly over her hair, her stomach grumbled lightly. Her appetite hadn't been specific enough to label as cravings up until then. Ironically, that morning was the first time they could do so.

"I want Drohn's roast chicken and rice," she demanded in a light voice.

"Dang, girl...that orc oils his food up like tha goblins," he remarked. True, Drohn ran the most popular restaurant in town for the locals, but damned if it wasn't the unhealthiest option she could have chosen. "Are ya sure?"

"I want roast chicken and rice!"

"Well...alright Cici, but keep in mind ya've only been awake for about an hour."

"Get me roast chicken and rice and coffee with chocolate in it!"

"Those don't even go tagether!"

"Go bring roast chicken and rice and choco coffee and I'm going to wear my pajamas all day!"

"Alright, calm down, I didn't say no," he chuckled while she kicked her feet up and down on the bed.

She remained lying face down as he got dressed. A merchant shipping low cost clothing a few weeks ago had shown up at the docks with human style casual clothing that just happened to be designed for people much larger than non-humans, and Khujand had basically bought the entire crate. It took some getting used to, but the smock that was loose even on his massive frame was rather comfortable over the loose cotton pants. Thank the Goddess for inappropriately sized discount garments.

* * *

On the ground floor, Irien had more or less converted the main sitting room for guests into a storage unit for her private business. Though she still handled translation work for the Steamwheedle post offics given Cecilia's termination, Irien had basically ended up spending most of her free time at the auction house. Part of the time she was buying goods to store on the ground floor before resale at jacked up prices and part of the time was to build the extensive network of contacts needed in order to function as an efficient middlewoman at the market. Indeed, she had earned roughly as much as the combined income of Khujand working as the Ratchet alchemy trainer and Cecilia as the Ratchet riding trainer and one of the two warrior trainers back when she had been working. Now that Cecilia had retired (or been fired, as Allison would always pointedly remind members of their social circle), Irien ended up being the primary breadwinner for their atypical surrogate family.

She was busy sealing a shipment of Kaldorei style clothing fashioned by a Sindorei tailor at the Crossroads who had become a good business partner when Khujand walked in the room. The goblins had invented an interesting type of sticky paper they used to seal boxes shut called 'duct tape' and it had spread like wildfire among the entepreneurial population upon its invention a few months back. Much of the general populace still had yet to learn of its existence.

Though Irien didn't look up, she heard him enter and nearly stumble over a crate of dragon fish statues from Pandaria that were due for resale next week.

"We just got a good amount of topwear from Diana this morning," Irien murmured while loudly stretching the roll of tape over the clothing boxes. "If I can move them today, we'll be able to take part ownership of the second flight point overlooking town. It gets less business than the older place near the docks, but that makes it easier to invest."

"We'd also get ta have permanent spots of our own in a flight manifest. Sonja has been pushin' for a consistent way for us to send our product ta tha Crossroads." He started to help Irien with her packing before realizing he was getting sidetracked. "Cici wants some roast chicken and rice and coffee and she wants chocolate in tha coffee," he listed while chuckling again. "Ya want anythin' while I'm out?"

After a little hoot, Irien shook her head. "We already have food in the kitchen; there's no need to buy more."

"Aside from tha fact that I'm gonna get my head bitten off if I don't hit Drohn's place real quick."

Khujand hadn't even turned to leave yet when somebody jingled the bell outside the door. They hadn't been expecting any guests that day, and the only people who ever showed up unannounced were either Anushka or Vegnus. Given that the spaz was busy with Yaromira on a business trip to Gadgetzan and the bard was on a two month vacation to see his sister and her husband at Ironforge, there was no telling who it could be.

Making his way through the crate filled anteroom and to the door, Khujand stood in front of the little spy hole but stayed a few feet back as he squinted and looked through. As much as his social skills had improved, he would likely always retain certain paranoid habits he'd developed while in prison. If somebody ever wanted to break in the house, he reasoned, a good way would be to knock on the door, hold an ice pick up to the spy hold and hit the back of it with a hammer when you heard them approach and try to look through; they'd be blinded. Cecilia and Irien both called his paranoia 'adorable' but it made perfect logical sense to him.

Two furry figures, one large and jet black and the other small and light brown, stood before the door. Before he could even tell her who it was, Irien had already squeezed between Khujand and the door to taunt one of the visitors on the other side.

"Gee, I wonder who that could be out there!" Irien taunted like a child.

"We actually come bearing good news," sounded the deep voice of Thunderhorn, one of the Ratchet stablemasters, from the other side.

"I wonder who it is that bears good news!" Irien shot back. Meatball cackled from outside until Thunderhorn grunted at him.

"Come on Irien, he doesn't like ta be teased," Khujand whispered to her.

Ignoring him entirely, Irien continued her bullying of the minotaur man from behind the door. "Say it!"

"Look, we were walking nearby and Meatball got word that Unelia sent a large package, we're trying to be thoughtful!" Thunderhorn protested.

"Who's trying to be thoughtful!" She just wouldn't give up.

Sighing heavily, the stablemaster relented and said the first name he had promised to reveal a third of a year ago. "Percival Thunderhorn."

"Aaaaaaaahahahahahhahaha!" Irien didn't sound mean, but her laughter was a bit forced. "Percy - _Percy_ Thunderhorn is here everybody!" she shouted only to Khujand. "We better let PERCY inside so he can tell us his big secret!"

Sweeping her aside, Khujand quickly opened the door and gave the upset tauren an apologetic smile. Irien danced a little jig in the corner as the two walked in - Thunderhorn with the large rectangular package and Meatball with a carton of eggs. Since the eggs were probably the least weird thing the gnoll could be carrying, Khujand merely honed in on the package.

"I was just about ta bring back some food from Drohn's joint," the jungle troll said to the two guests as Irien danced in a circle around him with her eyes closed. "Do ya guys want anythin' while I'm there?"

"Actually, you might want to read this first. As I understand it, there is a letter both from your sister in law and that Wolfrunner individual," the tauren answered.

"Whoa...let me see that!" Tucking the package underneath his arm, Khujand used one of his four inch long clipped tusks as a letter opener to read Unelia's cover letter.

 _My dearest Isurith,_

 _Word of Gwynneth's demise has had somewhat of a calming effect on this side of the border. Her behavior brought shame to all the fine women of Serenity, but your success in your duel with her as well as you, your husband's and your friends' efforts in ending both her illegal operation and the remnants of the active Outriders have been recognized. After contacting Keeper Ordanus at Raynewood, both he was well as Sentinel Thenysil have interceded on Khujand's behalf with Raene Wolfrunner._

 _She actually visited me here in Astranaar and then allowed me to visit the birthing compound. Suffice to say that she does seem somewhat cautious about a non Kaldorei staying in such a traditional environment, though more due to her concern for the comfort of other new mother than to any sort of prejudices of her own. She did express concern regarding my brother in law's former affiliation, but when Thenysil showed her his registration paper at the Astranaar visitor's kiosk, Sister Wolfrunner acknowledged that Khujand has left the Horde and, like many of the tauren up in Moonglade, is a neutral individual who should be able to travel within our lands without restriction._

 _It is with great joy that I inform you that, though not without conditions, you and your husband have been accepted to enter the birthing compound. As soon as you learn when you're expecting, Sister Wolfrunner would like us to inform her so that she may add the two of you to the schedule. The compound tends to see a good deal of unexpected traffic as well as fluctuations in available volunteers, and the sooner her staff may plan for your arrival, the better. She has requested that you arrive here at Astranaar two months before your expected delivery date - I trust Khujand's talents will allow him to give an accurate prediction - and to take up residence at the compound one month beforehand. There are a number of courses and workshops her staff offers regarding parenting, baby health and the birth process itself and she also explained that volunteering in and of itself will help you to prepare. She also inquired as to your husband's stature; apparently they need to clear some leftover debris on one end of the camp for the growing of new buildings and I believe they intend to put him to work. If anything, that's a good sign - although Sister Wolfunner will detail the conditions of his presence to you, it does seem like a done deal in terms of the two of you being allowed inside._

 _Isurith, I couldn't be happier for you. I..._

Due to the more personal nature of the second half of the cover letter, Khujand tucked it back into the envelope. It wasn't addressed to him and besides, he had already seen what he needed to see. He handed the entire pile, package and all, to Irien.

"What does it say?" she asked intently.

"Take this ta Cici right now," he beamed, his heart soaring the same way it had when Ordanus initially agreed to his freedom of movement throughout Ashenvale in the first place. "We gotta get a celebration brunch thrown tagether!"

Despite not knowing exactly what the letter said, both Thunderhorn and Meatball figured out it was good news. "WE CAN GO WITH", the gnoll snickered as Khujand put his sandals on.

"Yes, I have a feeling it might take the three of us due to the amount of food needed," Thunderhorn added while stepping back outside.

Taking one last second to grab his satchel and coinpurse from the anteroom dresser drawers, Khujand pretended he didn't notice Irien nosily reading the second half of the cover letter as she ascended the staircase. Making a mental list in his head of other food items he'd buy, he crossed the street to grab Kiul before heading to the restaurant. The poor guy was living as a helpless bachelor again while Yaromira was gone. Surely his presence would be a welcome addition to the mini party that was about to take place.

* * *

Cecilia mentally fought off another wave of nausea as she buried her face into the pillow. She survived a number of disasters during her military service, some of which included poison attacks and fel magic. This, however, was entirely different.

Once the wave had come and gone, she continued to relax on her belly. In truth, she had known she was pregnant the first time she felt unwell at the beginning of the week. To admit that scared her. It scared her even more than the time she, Velonia and Tirith had been cornered inside a mountain cave near the Zoram Strand for a week by a nest of angry chimaera about five thousand years ago. Cecilia would now be responsible for the entire survival of another living being. Aside from sleeping, there was nothing a baby could do on its own. To stave off hunger and thirst, to be calmed when it was scared...a baby was wholly dependent on others. It couldn't even swat away a fly buzzing around its head and bothering it. The entire world flashed before the eyes of a baby, all of it beyond the small being's control. The world outside of a mother or father's arms must be so terrifying.

A few weeks back, she had heard of an infant drowning a few streets over when the parents left him in the tub to check on something in the other room. It was a hugely stupid, idiotic mistake on their part but she couldn't help but pity them anyway. To think that they experienced the joy of seeing him born only to...

"What's wrong with me?" Cecilia huffed while wiping her eyes.

She couldn't be more than one month in to pregnancy. How could she already be moody and hormonal? She had a feeling the next year would be an emotional one.

Before the bedroom door even opened, she could sense the footsteps. Khujand must have been walking extra softly because he barely made any noise at all. He ambled over to the bed and when she felt the mattress sink in, Cecilia figured he must be leaning down only part of his weight.

"I don't smell any chicken or chocolate," she groaned into the pillow, although she smiled when she said it.

She couldn't have been more shocked when she realized how much she had let her guard down.

"Your sister has really neat handwriting!" Irien's voice chirped next to her.

Cecilia thrashed once as she rewrapped herself in the blanket. "Irien I'm not wearing anything!"

"Yeah, and I've washed your back for you at bathhouses before. There's nothing I haven't seen under there, calm down."

:: _RIIIIIP_ ::

"Woman, these are some thick books here."

Blanket still wrapped around her, Cecilia sat up. "Books? From Uni?"

"Nope. These are from Wolfrunner," Irien replied as she continued reading the cover letter next to Cecilia on the bed.

Cecilia found three hard cover books on the bed. The first, with a plain brown cover, was written in Common by some high elf author and bore the title 'Introduction to Midwifery.' The second, also written in Common but by a human author, was a very generic looking text called 'Pregnancy and You.' The third, though, was far more interesting.

"That one was written by Wolfrunner herself, apparently," Irien mumbled without looking up from Unelia's letter. "Hey, you never told me you met her before."

It took Cecilia a second before the comment registered. "Wait, what did you say?"

"Your sister is saying that you met Raene Wolfrunner, something like two or three times while on rotation during the Vigil? She handled the Sabres and told Unelia's that she vaguely remembers you."

"I...I...vaguely, maybe. I didn't recognize her first name as anyone particular when Ralo'shan mentioned her. I think the family name is familiar, but it could have been someone else. Sabres..." Cecilia literally scratched her head while trying to think. Her eyes grew the size of saucers when an incredibly fast flashback of a blue haired woman at a stable near the Ashenvale Darkshore border ran through her mind. "Oh...vaguely. I met so many during rotations, but...vaguely."

'Childbirth the Natural Way' was the title of the Darnassian work Raene had coauthored along with someone else. The book wasn't as thick as the others but seemed much more enticing. Flipping through the pages, Cecilia was treated to copious amounts of anecdotes, opinion pieces and general words of wisdom Raene had picked up while struggling to serve their race's newfound needs. 'The New Vigil' appeared to be a particularly interesting chapter wherein Raene quoted another pre-Sundering woman who, like Cecilia would be very soon, had given birth for the first time after the onset of post immortality ageing. After Nordrassil, the continuation of their heritage through the raising of new generations outside of the unnatural and unhelpful birthing and child rearing methods of the modern world was to be their new charge and purpose in the world.

By chance, Cecilia glanced back down at the package and noticed a second letter that had been tucked behind the books. She took it up in her hands and found that it was quite long but written in large type.

"I think this one is from the woman herself," the former sentinel and...well, soon to be mommy said.

 _Isurith (or Cecilia if you prefer),_

 _I commend you on your decision to carry on the legacy of the children of the stars by taking the most important step most people ever will take. As your sister has informed me, you intend to conceive and bear children. Our facilities are open to all of our kind who seek to give birth in a natural way, and to learn s sacred form of knowledge that, with the passing of so much time, many of us forgot. It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to our facility once the time comes._

 _I am sure you have many questions at this time. That is normal, as is a certain measure of anxiety. Having been independent for all our lives, many of us find the idea of caring for another being to be intimidating. But do not worry: from the time you first conceive, you will have roughly one year to prepare. For this first communication, I have enclosed three pieces of reading material that are beneficial for both you and the father to read. It is a shame that with the opening of the world's people's via trade and technology, a large number of myths and fallacies regarding the beauty of bringing life into this world have spread. It is my hope that our efforts to raise awareness within the community about motherhood and parenting will spread even beyond the west Ashenvale region._

 _Over the next few months, either myself or our staff members will stay in contact with you through the elder Swiftfoot. If you do intend on visiting again at some point within the next four months or so, it may even be advisable for you to stop by for a prenatal exam._

 _Regarding the situation with your husband, then there are some ground rules. Keeper Ordanus explained your situation to us in a communication he sent around the time your sister came for a visit. The presence of the father, whenever possible, is incredibly important for the wellbeing of a new family. That being said, your husband would be the first parent of another race at the compound, and for the sake of keeping the peace, there are some things for the both of you to keep in mind before he arrives..._

Despite her delight at reading the letter, Cecilia found that her heart was beating too fast to finish. Without another word, she jumped out of the bed and cast the blanket down, ignoring Irien's exaggerated shriek as she searched for wherever she had thrown her underwear and pajamas.

"Slow down, I didn't even pay for a show!" Irien joked while shielding her eyes.

Bounding down the stairs, Cecilia could already smell the roast chicken before she even reached the kitchen. Irien caught up with her at the same time, and Khujand had already set up the chicken, rice, guacamole dip with tortillas and more bananas than she had ever seen over every available space on the table and counters. Due to the presence of their male friends - Thunderhorn, Meatball and Kiul had already dug in to the food - Cecilia reverted to her usual elven restraint and settled for a congenial hello to all and a demure hug for her husband. But as they twitched their ears at one another, she knew that he could sense the comfort that had washed over her once the morning sickness had passed.

"So I hear there is some good news in the mail," Kiul said heartily while trying to scrape an evasive onion slice out of the guacamole bowl.

Meatball, despite being half Khujand or Thunderhorn's size, typically ate more than both of them and had already downed an entire chicken. Noticing the rapidly disappearing protein, Thunderhorn scooped a second whole chicken onto a plate and handed it to her.

Not wanting to get her hopes up for nothing, she tried not to convince herself that the tickle in her stomach could possibly be a kick at only one month into pregnancy and searched for the source of the strong coffee smell. Even though only a few of her friends were there, she felt the warmth and support as she looked at them and then at her husband.

"Best news we've received in a few months," she replied, unable to say much more without breaking into another silly grin.

After a moment or so passed, Meatball shook as much of the rice off of his snout as possible and rattled the carton of eggs.

"ALLISON IS OUT OF TOWN AGAIN," he snickered in his 'scheming' voice.

It didn't take long for everyone to understand what he meant. With a mouth full of guacamole, Cecilia grunted her approval.

"I think a small celebration is in order once we finish eating..."


	45. Epilogue

You close the book, having finally reached the end. It's moonrise now, and although we didn't examine the index, I do my best to assure you that it's complete and accurate.

"It's rather late at this point; perhaps we could flip through the index some other time," I suggest while pouring you some orange juice - no pulp. "I'm flattered that you even stuck with it this far; it really does mean a lot to me."

High above the city of Ratchet, the stars shine brightly. Even with all the light pollution of the medium sized port city, the constellations are still visible enough to illuminate the light waves crashing against the few tracts of exposed shoreline. One particular group of bright stars bear names special to the Hearthglen family - only me, them and now you know the names.

"I honestly feel like Celonia shines even more brightly than usual when reading the parts about Serenity," I remark while staring at one particularly luminescent nova in the group. Shaking the sad thought out of my head, I return to our conversation. "Anyway, I really appreciate that you read the story all the way through. It won't be published for a few months, so if you have any feedback or reviews, I'd love to hear your thoughts."

We sip on our tangy juice while breathing in the cool air of the Barrens night. No matter what time it happens to be, there is always a hustle of activity down at the pier and the trade district - which happens to take up most of the first few streets immediately facing the docks. Unlike some of the seedier settlements run by goblin cartels, Ratchet has a large population of permanently settled families residing within; if anything, the twenty four seven activity at the port ultimately makes it a much safer place to live, you remember me telling you. Very relaxed, well patrolled and far removed from most conflicts of the world.

I continue watching the early evening hawkers make their way to the trade district streets below as we speak. "For better or for worse, that's how their days of adventuring came to an end. After twelve thousand years, Cecilia Hearthglen found someone who understands her and would never leave her side. And although Khujand's life experience is considerably shorter, in his mind he also spent a rather long span of time to find someone he could connect with.

"Azeroth is changing, as you can imagine. Seven years ago, when this story took place, an interracial couple would still garner stares; an such a couple was likely to elicit reactions like from that wretch, Gwynn. Things aren't completely smooth sailing for them now, but it's certainly much easier than a few years ago."

We share a quiet, peaceful moment and I smile warmly at your reaction. The authentic Kaldorei wind chimes hanging from one side of the awning posts on the porch sing at the coming of a small breeze. Across from them, the handcrafted Darkspear fetish - taboo in Horde lands due to the ban on voodoo but nobody's business in a neutral city - dangle but do not create sound as they clack together. Two signs marking the cultures that comprise the huge estate villa holding one of Ratchet's most important non-goblin families. I catch you admiring the fusion design marking the architecture again until the sound of many voices and footsteps distracts the both of us.

Out through the open gate of the naturally grown stone wall topped with slanted night elven style, we see them. The first two to come into view are a cheery, youngish looking dwarven bard prancing forth while playing a flute. He appears totally unconcerned that others might find him silly, and is focused intensely on his tune. Next to him is a rather busy blood elf tailor, piles of fabric in her arms and a tape measure held securely in her mouth. You vaguely recognize the two of them from the longish story you just read, but you don't remember the two children running ahead of them.

Perhaps not more than six years old, they race each other to the gate, their loose, sort of elven and sort of trolling looking custom made clothing flapping in the wind behind them. The boy resembles the father heavily, with his almost natural looking Mohawk and a part of short tusks already starting to poke out. His violet-blue hide is unique, though, and his indigo hair matches the description of his mother before she began dyeing hers. The bright silver eyes he shares with his sister, however, give away the other half of his heritage.

His sister is quite different. Hair the deepest, purest shade of jade - as though her hair itself were extracted from the most exquisite gemstone mine you could imagine - flaps in the wind as they race. Her navy blue complexion doesn't clash with but rather complements her hair, and she leaps forward to win the race just as the last second.

Before you even have a chance to let out a light chuckle, you see who you assume to be the parents behind them all. The father is the most difficult to miss; after all the years of hard labor during his own prison sentence, he had stopped slouching most of the time, as I explained to you earlier. With slightly glowing red eyes matching his longer mohawk and short beard, he's almost like a big walking beacon in the night. Behind his shoulder, he carries two fully assembled baby cribs in one hand, a thick finger curled around the bars of each. A large portion of diapers, booties, tiny blankets and medical pillows lie inside each, and he carried it all gingerly as the group walks.

What clings to him while wrapped in his other arm grabs your attention the most strongly, though.

Held to his chest and gripping his arms as they squeal are two toddlers about half the age of the racing children. A girl and a boy, they both having matching hide and mane color to the older boy, but unlike the older children, seem to feel content with being held. The boy has eyes glowing a deep amber color. The girl's eyes, while a regular silver, glow even more brightly than mine, signaling another kind of power.

Next to the father, only reaching to his shoulder in height but still the tallest woman you've ever seen, is who you know can be no other than the mother. Although her clothing is conservative, you can still see the baby bump and know that she must be quite a ways along. And even though the natural elven glow in her eyes has faded from her past addiction problems, there's another kind of shine far, far more powerful, and there is a very real happiness radiating from her so strongly that it warms you even all the way up here on the porch.

She has a LOT of tattoos. You knew they were a lot, but you hadn't expected to see a veritable living canvas. They accentuate her battle scars in a way the Titans themselves couldn't have fashioned more attractively.

In one arm, she has a tub of the gelatinous desert the humans refer to as 'iced cream,' while the other holds a spatula. "Her cravings can be quite random," I whisper to you jokingly when I notice you looking.

Once they approach, the two older children run up and take the orange juice for themselves after a brief hello. Their mother smiles, flashing two pearly white rows punctuated by a single gold tooth - a trophy she opted for after her duel to the death with Gwynn, having eschewed any lame attempt to imitate a real tooth. The dark azure dye a few shades darker than her husband's skin no longer colors her hair. Instead, she seems to have accepted the grey of her ageing, and merely highlights her hair with azure streaks. Upon closer inspection, you realize that the violet-blue complexion of three of the four children matches the color of her tattoos precisely.

It's only then that you realize she's smiling at you, and you smile back. She's even more intimidating than the husband, yet simultaneously seems just as kind. You embrace the contradiction as you help me pack the manuscripts up. There will certainly be more time to look them over and review them during your stay; for now, you know it's time to meet the couple whose struggle merely to be with each other occupied your mind for so long. Their plight certainly turned out alright in the end, as you can see from the household and family they built.

"Along with me!" I add as we finish putting our things away.

Before you can stand, I reach over to give your hand a squeeze. We chuckle and laugh as we help each other up, and I take a moment to right myself - I'm still not used to wearing a dress, as you know.

"Thanks again for coming, and for offering to check the story out for me. It will by no means be the last, but was certainly the first," I say while helping you to move the drinking glasses out of the way. "If you're interested in reading more, I did write an upcoming story about their trek to Raene Wolfrunner's birthing compound and how they took the big step of bringing these wonderful little munchkins into the world. I titled it 'Lightning Crashes,' and plan on having it ready for you two weeks from now if you're interested.

"There's still more...so much more. I will write until we can fill a library with Cecilia's proverbial history lessons, from the ancient world where writing and sliced bread were a big deal up until now. And even the stories of Khujand and the tribulations of his non tribal family. And as these children grow, I will be there with them the entire way."

I become a bit emotional as we speak, and the others give us our space as I finish up. "This is my family too, and for as many centuries as I have left, I'll be watching over the progeny of my two best friends. And even though they want all of their children to live the lives of civilians, we all know that that isn't likely given who their parents are. Everybody needs a little adventuring in order to grow up, right? And I'll be there to record and publish it all - Valmar, who helped me establish the Ratchet Literary Club, has even talked of trying to publish on our own."

I wipe my nose just as Cecilia arrives. Quite unlike most elves, she reaches forward to lay one large yet soft hand on your shoulder as she looks down and greets you as though you've met before. You begin to understand why everyone who meets this family seems enthralled by them.

"Thanks again - so much! I truly hope you will stick around to read my future stories, whether they be about the Hearthglens, the women of Serenity, tribal conflict in a savage land or the fandom in general. And even if you don't, the fact that you stuck through for this long is enough. It is my hope that you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it; I really appreciate it. And I love you all."

 **:)**


End file.
